The Coral built a long, meaningful career out of mining garage rock, psychedelia, post-punk, AOR, and folk-rock for their best parts, then sticking them together in immediately hooky and mysterious new ways. 2021's
Coral Island feels like their honors dissertation, tying up all the strands of sound they've examined over the years and weaving them masterfully into a beautifully rendered, emotionally powerful experience. A concept album based on the bandmembers' sepia-tinged memories of spending time at seaside resorts on the West Coast of England, the album is wide-ranging, deeply felt, and sonically enthralling.
James Skelly turns in a batch of his best songs yet; poppy gems like the jangling "My Best Friend" and organ-led folk-garage nugget "Vacancy" slot in nicely next to warm, richly arranged ballads ("Mist on the River"), rippling rockers ("Lover Undiscovered"), and spooky tracks that harken back to the
Joe Meek-era of British pop ("Faceless Angel"). The group take their usual meticulous approach to arranging and producing. Every song is perfectly crafted and full of chiming, twanging guitars, plinking and humming keys of a vintage nature, and a rock-solid rhythm section. Add in
James Skelly's vocals, which take up the middle of the mix with all the power of a strongman in a sideshow, and it's high-quality
Coral from beginning to end. This time,
James Skelly shares the songwriting and vocal duties with the rest of the band and the results add to the expansive nature of the record. Drummer
Ian Skelly turns in a couple of nice tunes (like the suitably sunny "Summertime," which sounds like a lost
Mungo Jerry track); keyboardist
Nick Power shines on the moody "Strange Illusions"; and guitarist
Paul Molloy's strummy "Calico Girl" conjures up end-of-the-season light melancholia.
Power composed most of the music for the short pieces of narration (provided by the Skellys' grandad) that stitches together the concept of the album nicely. Half of the record captures the whirling fun and sparkle of a resort in full swing; half nails the faded mystique of a decaying, once-beloved spot. The feelings are specific to the members of the band but they're also universal -- this could be an album about Blackpool or Asbury Park or any once-bustling place that's not what it used to be. That's definitely not an issue with
the Coral -- they've retained all the youthful enthusiasm of their earliest records, and all the melancholy wisdom and skill they've gained over the years.
Coral Island is the band at their best, effortlessly conjuring up the glorious ghosts of rock & roll's past and turning those sounds into something timeless and instantly rewarding at once. ~ Tim Sendra