The Whitest Boy Alive Dreams

For all its many engaging features, the New Acoustic Movement was never really defined by the spectacular genre-straddling versatility of its principals; for instance, we've never heard James Walsh having a crack at death metal, neither of Turn Brakes appears to be holding down an operatic career on the sly, and, to the best of our knowledge, none of I Am Kloot has a dubstep side project on the go. Kings Of Convenience's Erlend Oye, on the other hand, was always the exception that proves the rule. Even back at the scene's height, he was the only NAM name that could regularly be found on the guest lists at Trash and Nag Nag Nag, and now he's adopted a whole new identity in an endeavour to get in touch with his funkier side. You heard.

Of course, that's lovely in theory, but the truth of the matter is that, even allowing for a generosity of assessment, this is chiefly a more laconic take on the sort of white-boy funk peddled by the likes of Haircut 100 and China Crisis back in the early 80s rather than a full-blown James Brown-style revue. Though that's probably for the best. After all, the likes of Inflation, with its vibrantly elasticated bassline, or Burning, this album's shining pop moment, suffused with guitars akin to White Town's Your Woman and but a hair's breadth away from northern continental house, are unquestionably suited to the dancefloor, but in a rather more rarefied sense than Oye might have intended. Likewise, when he aims most squarely for clubland, his longstanding kinship with Royksopp rears its head domineeringly, so that Borders becomes an exercise in minimalist metronomy, and Above You, dub dynamics notwithstanding, is an affair driven by electronic thrift.

And those are just the dance tracks, but Oye lives up to his pseudonym even more significantly by sidestepping his manifesto and dabbling in prime post-rock waters, arguably demonstrating that he perhaps ought to be pursuing that path further in the future. Figures, for example, is ostensibly the work of a truncated high-definition Tortoise circa '96 thanks to its bluntly-angled clangs and liquid drumming, and Don't Give Up expands this notion further still, revolving around the sort of mantric guitar'n'organ hypnosis that's manna to many an All Tomorrow's Parties-goer. All well and good in its own way, although, if he's honest, it does take Erlend somewhat further from tunes he can actually use to DJ with, and, if anything, it's evidence that Dreams' key flaw is that it's not consistently the going-out album it might have been.

That said, there are certainly three key reasons to be optimistic here. First and foremost, there's that voice, a gushing pillow of chocolate that remains thrillingly undimmed. Secondly, there's the persistent playing off his bookish image with a certain carnality, notably in Borders and especially Fireworks. And, lastly, there are hints dropped lyrically throughout that he doesn't necessarily work better alone, which bodes well for an eventual end to the Kings' current indefinite hiatus. And really, of course, it's the day job that Oye does best, though, at the very least, Dreams is still welcome sustenance for the completists and an intriguing curio for everyone else.