Album: Lincoln

Mettle, Narwhal

Alex Gordon, songwriter with the UK alt.country outfit Lincoln, sympathises with those confused by his band's style. "Everyone talks about Americana," he says; "maybe our take on it should be called Anglicana." He has a point: there's something quintessentially English about Lincoln, in a warm-beer, rain-stopped-play, quiet-desperation kind of way that would doubtless warm the cockles of John Major's heart; and when the group pick up their horns to add a splash of colour – usually dun or sepia, admittedly – to their melancholy songs, the result is rather like a depleted colliery brass band infused with the antique spirit of The Band. Their American influences are never completely disguised, however. Several critics – me included – compared Lincoln's early EPs Barcelona and Kibokin to Nashville's marvellous Lambchop, and the comparison holds for this debut album, not least in the cryptic quality that Gordon's songs share with those of Kurt Wagner. Even after several close listens, their meanings remain translucent at best and often impermeable to standard lyrical logic – but without impairing their appeal. Some tracks seem to be about internecine strife or tortuous relationships, but it's perhaps best to regard them as expressionist musings on life's shadowy side, rather than anything more specific.