Fridge, The Sun (Temporary Residence)

I seem to remember commenting at the end of a review of Kieran Hebden’s last release, the Tongues album with drummer Steve Reid, that I had no idea where he was going to go next.  If I had really put my mind to it (or, erm, done some cursory internet research) I should have worked out it would be a new Fridge album.  With the live, loud, jazzy bent of his recent work, and the considerable benfit of hindsight, the reformation of the decade-asleep Putney three-piece seems pretty logical.

The reunion with Adem (lovely man, nice glasses, sturdy acoustic fare on Domino) and Sam Jeffers seems to have been a fruitful one.  The band slip effortlessly back into their post-rock gear, and I slip comfortably back into my post-rock listening costume, and much happiness ensues.  “Clocks” ticks along in Tortoise fashion, “Eyelids” is crunchy, riffy, like “Chroma” from Semaphore, in “Oram” crystal forms from sonic tumble a la “Sun Drums and Soil”, while “Insects” curves off improvisationally from from the orbit of Rounds.  It isn’t entirely a retrospective affair; the title track melts tambura over an electric hip-hop fire and blazing drums, sounding totally fresh and exciting.  (An entirely personal and probably regrettable observation to close: the pleasant twang of “Comets” would have sounded brilliant accompanying the run-through of the leaderboard at the US Masters.  Make of that what you will). 

The extra decade of experience of the protagonists has resulted in a confident, well-produced and most grin-inducing album, making previous Fridge releases sound disturbingly raw and naïve in comparison.  I can’t remember the last time an album made me feel ten years younger.  They should sell this stuff in Boots (they do sell this stuff at Temporary Residence).