NOW that Coldplay rule the world with banal benevolence, there is less of a rumpus about the Glasgow band who paved the way, John the Baptist-like, for their mild musical revolution.
This week, Travis are playing a series of comeback gigs in "int
imate" venues – a commercial climbdown from the days when they were perched at the top of festival bills, but a still respectable showing.
They have recently come to the end of the major label deal that launched them on to an international stage when Chris Martin was still a humble student.
Again, this is no disgrace, but also no surprise that they have not been snapped up again. Album sales are not what they were in the halcyon days of The Man Who.
But, rather than bemoan the passing of the spotlight on to younger sorts, Travis have viewed this transition as an opportunity to do whatever they please, under the auspices of their own Red Telephone Box label, which they had originally set up in 1996 to release debut single All I Wanna Do Is Rock.
The result is a sixth album that, relative to the rest of their polite output, is a wildly experimental freak-out. Ode To J Smith – so titled because most of the songs are about or addressed to nameless characters – was written in a "rush of creative energy" on electric guitar (the first time they had done so since their debut) and recorded in two weeks.
According to the band, it is their "loudest, edgiest and most arresting record since their debut" – an allegation that would probably stand up in a court of law, along with the assertion that the new Oasis album is "their least disappointing album since the last one what wasn't as bad as all that other guff they've done post-What's The Story".
But loud and edgy is really not Travis – that has been a known from the start, despite that debut single's protestation otherwise. They are just not convincing when they attempt to rock out, particularly when Fran Healy tries to inject some grit into his vocal, as he does on the rather clod-hopping Oasis-by-way-of-Slade track Long Way Down.
However, Ode To J Smith marks, in the main, refreshing, even surprising progress for Travis who, free from any weighty commercial expectations, genuinely seem to have pleased themselves on this album.
Chinese Blues is an impressive introduction to this new, invigorated Travis, kicking off with Roxy Music-style piano and manly guitar, before giving way to a more refined, moody chorus.
Speaking of Roxy, there is a blatant Love Is The Drug steal in the title track, plus more muscular 1970s riffing. Then a beefy male-voice choir starts huffing and puffing in Latin as the guitar squall accelerates.
It's all rather exciting stuff by Travis's staid terms. But everything is still handled with a guiding sense of pop decorum – all the disparate elements hang together because Travis are in the business of songs, rather than sonic gimmicks.
They may scuff up Get Up with the kind of percussive, bluesy groove that has become a Tunstall trademark but, like KT, they can't deny the pop tune within.
Likewise, current single Something Anything nods to Queens of the Stone Age's insouciant distillation of classic rock, but the chorus melody is pure Travis.
Brooding centrepiece Broken Mirror leads the way into the more reflective territory that punctuates the second half of the album. Friends is a decent example of their facility for wistful melody, with a nice vocal from Healy. Last Words marks the return of the banjo, so nicely deployed on Sing, but also of the languorous, inoffensive, mid-paced Travis mooching of old. Belying its tentative title, Quite Free actually kicks up its heels very effectively and naturally.
Unfortunately, they let the side down in the final instance with Song To Self, the kind of insipid and insidious nonentity, with requisite trite lyrics ("I'm singing a song to myself… just making it up in my head, I need someone to sing along with"), that once dominated airplay and sold them a lot of records. Prepare to be irked, as it is sure to find its way onto radio sooner or later.
On the whole though, Ode To J Smith has a lot more personality than its anonymous title would suggest. True to the punk spirit in which the album was conceived, it is certainly short and to the point, at a mere 33 minutes long.
The songs never outstay their welcome – but the unexpected pleasure is that, in most cases, you wish they would stick around for longer.
