You know something startling has happened to popular music tastes when the only act capable of dislodging the Darkness from the top of the album chart, after five weeks, is Muse. Loud in every sense, these groups have set a new benchmark for louche, theatrical overkill. It does not, on the face of it, bode well for the arrival of 12 Memories, the fourth album by Travis.

Travis have made a virtue out of being ordinary; humble even. “Why does it always rain on me?” they famously asked, with a rather hangdog air, as if they hadn’t noticed that that is what usually happens to people who live in Glasgow. They called their last album The Invisible Band — to convey their belief that it is the songs which matter, not the group.

“You really can’t have any sort of arrogance,” the singer Fran Healey declared of his role as frontman. But Travis have had their dramas. Oh yes. Neil Primrose was lucky to walk again, never mind play the drums, after breaking his neck last year in a swimming accident. And they have had their brushes with fashion as well, if Healey’s “Hoxton fin” hair arrangement can be classed in that category.

But can such self-effacing men create sufficient noise to make themselves heard in the clamorous pop marketplace?

The obvious gambits on 12 Memories are not the most successful. Having avoided political statements in the past, they wade in here with The Beautiful Occupation, a strident anti-war anthem written after Healy had attended demos in London and Glasgow, and a song on the subject of political apathy called Peace the F*** Out. As rabble-rousing, humalong tunes go, they are serviceable, but in a misguided attempt to nail the spirit of the times Healy sells his poetic talents lamentably short.

Tracks that deal with the fears of the pop star approaching middle-age are better. Mid-Life Krysis is dark and despondent, but benefits from several Beatles-esque flourishes. Quicksand plumbs a similar genteel despair while acknowledging that “It’s just the sound of one more rock star bleeding”.

The best songs create altogether stranger and stronger moods. Paperclips has a haunting, almost Coral-esque, feel as Healy invites the listener to “Take a trip down memory lane/ You will never wanna go again”. It’s a lovely tune and a powerful plea for the wisdom of living your life in the present tense. A similar chilly resonance is conjured in Walking Down the Hill, the unsettling tale of a moonlit stroll during which the balance sheet of life is scrutinised in uncomfortable detail.

And on Happy to Hang Around, a funky, beats-driven song with a serrated guitar riff that fairly rips through the middle section, they make their mission statement: “I’ll never get into your heart/ I’m just happy to hang around.”

Which is Travis all over, really. They are still not a band that would care to lay too much of a claim on your affections, or demand more than their fair share of your attention. But while the new generation of egotists vie for space on the airwaves, Travis are still quietly worth a spin.

Independiente

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