Send "The Kooks " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Popmatters |
 The press kit for Junk of the Heart makes some pretty authoritative statements about the direction this LP is supposed to take the still-young British indie band. The record is described as a sort of “rebirth” for the group, a shifting of its influences that still manages to retain the signature sound that the group has developed over the past two records. That is a particularly interesting statement of intent: based on their past two outings, 2006’s Inside In/Inside Out and 2008’s Konk, there weren’t any clear indications that the Kooks needed to change. Those records, while no masterpieces, were well-performed pieces of indie rock, accented with touches of Britpop and post-punk. They were the sorts of record that didn’t define the year but spent plenty of time in rotation; the band’s skill at writing a memorable hook is near prodigious. The press kit’s bold declarations of the band’s renewal are even more odd after a cursory listen to the material on Junk of the Heart. There is some experimentation here that the band hasn’t done before, but on the whole this is the same catchy, addictive style of music that the group excels at. The title track, which opens the record, serves as perhaps the most concise summation of the Kooks’ work: gleefully, frontman Luke Pritchard sings, “I want to make you happy / I want to make you feel alive.” Within the first few minutes of the record, the band has made its purpose clear: to make a happy, enjoyable record. Likewise, perhaps self-deprecatingly, Pritchard confesses, “The junk of the heart / Is junkin’ my mind.” As the album’s title makes clear, there won’t be any deep explorations about the human condition. Though not entirely superficial, the album for the most part is in comfortable territory for the band. When the album’s tone does become introspective, like on the violin-backed interlude “Time Above the Earth”, the band isn’t making any earth-shattering observations. Truth is, though, it doesn’t really matter. That track, like the rest of the album, is so infectious that the Kooks’ skill at writing a great hook outweighs their lack of philosophical depth. The Kooks are successful on this record mostly because, despite what has been said of the record, they are keeping to their wheelhouse. Tracks like “Eskimo Kiss” and “Runaway” capitalize on the band’s skill in writing a great acoustic guitar riff (“Sofa Song” from Inside In/Inside Out is a prime example). Even though the synth in “Runaway” sounds out of place (and oddly like Flight of the Conchords), the band is still up to its normal tricks. The album’s choruses are still driven by the band’s vocal harmony, which is at times reminiscent of the Beatles (the title track and “Rosie”) and at other times recalls contemporary British bands like the Kaiser Chiefs (“How’d You Like That” would have fit in well on Yours Truly, Angry Mob). Some may criticize the Kooks for not getting too far out of their comfort zone, but they are quite good at what they do and, as a result, the record’s playability drowns out any such complaints....full text |
| Guardian |
| The last words on this album, delivered with a figurative stamp of the foot, are "No more Mr Nice Guy". So that's us told – the Kooks want out of the corner they painted themselves into by making all that bouncy pop on their first album. But sentiments like that, and song with titles such as Fuck the World Off, probably won't dissuade the schoolgirls who've stuck with them since 2006. As long as this band continue to sound like the boys next door who've got hold of a guitar and some Beatles wigs – despite singer Luke Prichard having been "inspired" by LCD Soundsystem while writing the album – they'll keep the fans they seem to want to shed. Signs of change bubble under a few tracks – they've almost gone drum'n'bass on Is It Me – but the bedrock of the LP is, as ever, winsome, highly listenable harmonic pop....full text |
| Bbc |
| The Kooks’ 2006 debut LP, Inside In/Inside Out, has sold an outstanding two million copies; their 2008 follow-up Konk entered the charts at the top, taking the number one spot from Duffy. There’s little doubt, however, that time has diluted the effectiveness of Luke Pritchard’s once attractively fey yet laddish squawk. While common sentiment in a song can still paralyse the purse-strings, The Kooks’ gormless image and strained ambiguities now feel even more cynical. Junk of the Heart seems to want to transport The Kooks into adulthood, but it doesn’t know how. It’s certainly not through the lyrics – the obvious tack – because Pritchard’s lazy, nasal SATs-level similes are more gloryless than ever. Eskimo Kiss’ bewildering "She’s like the rose without a thorn / She’s like the sunflower that never looks back at the sun" offers the vision of a frontman desperately picking at half-rhymes to impress the teacher, more than anything else. The Kooks’ best singles had vigour, silliness and gold-standard choruses, but there’s none of that here. Time Above the Earth is admirably futile and literal, detailing "a thousand thoughts flashing through my brain" mid-air on a flight, barely luxuriating in a tiny bath of pizzicato strings. Runaway aims briefly at the electric excitement of Mystery Jets’ second album before drowning in a mire of ska and Liam Gallagher-style mic-assaulting. The highlights are Is It Me’s turbo-charged janglepop, and the jaunty and light 80s lounge-pop introduction of Killing Me, which quickly descends into X Factor Winning Song territory with the immortal line, "I know you didn't mean to creep into my dreams". Any hint at excitement on this album is quickly picked up on and thrown away, in favour of keeping the ‘serious band’ hook consistent. Mr. Nice Guy pickpockets David Bowie’s Let’s Dance, which certainly sounds like a band having a good time, but quickly becomes the opposite of fun. There’s very little drive in Junk of the Heart, just a messy selection of meandering verses that surely can’t be the product of three years’ work. The misspelt words of the liner notes say it all, and quite why The Kooks’ terrible lyrics are showcased here at all is a wonder – it’s patronising even to loyal Kooks fans, surely. While token strings cut in on Runaway – and the leather jackets have been replaced by a more current double-denim look in the sleeve’s band shots – it seems that whoever had faith in this record had taken shelter long before its tracklisting made the final cut....full text |
The Kooks lyrics
|
| |||||||||||||
