at a glance...

Hometown: Liverpool, UK
Formed: 1988

Members:
Martin Carr -songwriting, guitar, vocals, keyboard
Sice -lead vocals
Timothy Brown -bass, keyboards
Rob Ceika -drums, percussion, keyboards, bell
Steve Kitchen -trumpet, flugelhorn
Lindsay Johnston -cello
Keith Cameron -NME writer and backing vocals on one song

Bands in the family :
Eggman, Brave Captain, Gallon Drunk, Sharkboy, Moose, Andy Wilkinson, The High Llamas, Stereolab, Justin Warfield

Without being all criticky about it, the opening of Giant Steps is a perfect metaphor for how this album is different from the Boos' first album, Everything's Alright Forever. (Let's not haggle over Lazarus and I really being their first album - I haven't heard it, and neither have you.) EAF was underrated shoegazer pop with moments of high drama, and for the first fifty-two seconds of Giant Steps we think we're in for the same thing: drifting backwards guitar chords, radio voices, not really sure where the album, or the band, is heading here. But suddenly a drumbeat busts through the wall of noise, a fuzzy guitar line ripped intact from the Yardbirds' back catalog, and "I Hang Suspended" comes into shape as a beautiful sort of thing: "Ain't that just you/you know the facts, but you haven't got a clue/about me." Sice is the one singing, but this is Martin Carr becoming one of the best songwriters of the '90s.

Martin is just on fire here, song after song, pumping out perfect pop product with integrity, heart, and a head full of confusion. Sure, some of these babies are dragged straight from his latest therapy session, but the sheer reach and breadth and depth of his ambition makes even his greatest self-indulgences universal; "Upon 9th and Fairchild" has the classic lines "As the vultures circle/and the bills and demands fill the floor/it's been three weeks and three days/since I last stepped out the door," but he answers himself later on the album with "If You Want It, Take It": "There's nothing bright about being undecided/If you want it, take it all/there's nothing cool about having to go without." These songs cover so much ground that you're bound to find at least three that touch your heart, that make sense to you and keep you going in the hard times.

Oh, yeah, the rest of the band is brilliant too: Sice is just a flat-out great singer, and he starts to show a little soul here that would be more developed on later albums; Rob and Tim are a pretty fearsome rhythm section; the whole band is tight and correct and exact, spanning free-form jazz (the end section of "Thinking of Ways"), My Bloody Valentine-inspired assaults ("Leaves of Sand," "Spun Around"), reggae pop ("Lazarus"), jangle ("Best Lose the Fear," "Wish I Was Skinny"), and weird song-suites like "Butterfly McQueen" and "Barney (...and Me)." Here, they're all just pretty much just laying it on the line and saying "We are the greatest band in the world this year. Fuckin' deal with it." And it was true, that year and a couple of others in the 1990s. Go ahead, argue with me - but you'll be wrong.

But overall, this is not a band album. It's Martin Carr's album, his mission statement, and his most perfect achievement. You know what this album is? It's the aural equivalent of Nick Hornby's High Fidelity. It's a guy who really loves music and is trying to save his soul by believing that music can actually help you get through life. Is he wrong? Who cares?

If you like The Boo Radleys, check out:
The Boo Radleys Wake Up!
The Boo Radleys C'mon Kids
The Flaming Lips Clouds Taste Metallic
Stereolab Emperor Tomato Ketchup
XTC English Settlement
The Beach Boys Pet Sounds
The Beatles Revolver
Shack H.M.S. Fable
R.E.M. Automatic for the People

-- Matt Cibula