The Quails - Master Of Imperfection

3/5

If you’ve not yet heard the call of The Quails, it won’t be long until you do. That is, at least, if the press release for their second album is anything to go by. In the last 12 months the Teignmouth four-piece have opened gigs for Muse and The Kooks; they have also appeared at festivals across Europe – the journey to one of which formed the subject of a rockumentary currently being entered into national film festivals.

It’s a press release that makes for impressive reading – even after the obligatory pinch of salt has been sprinkled over a format famed for hyperbolic, superlative-strewn bullshit. Much like the journey that took them to The Alps a couple of months ago it would seem The Quails’ career is only going one way. Up.

But in truth, The Quails second album release in 18 months fails to deliver on the grandiose expectation bestowed upon its brittle little shoulders. That’s not to say that Master Of Imperfection is bad. Certainly not. It’s just not very good.
The album opens with ‘Games With The Devil’. Aside from being a tad bloated it’s a decent opener, unveiling a predilection for biting guitars and a willingness to try and imbue their sound with pangs of originality.

‘Princess’ is also strong. With a belting vocal melody that soars across an anthemic chorus, it stands with forthcoming single Argentina as a potential summer hit. The title track meanwhile gallops over the horizon with the kind of celestial, guitar-pompous conclusion that evidences why The Quails were chosen to support Muse – even if the track begins like the freaky bastard offspring of Arctic Monkeys and a dodgy 80s cock-rock outfit.

The vocals of Dan Steer are consistently great. That said, it does often sound like he’d rather be singing for The Kooks – best evidenced by ‘Princess’ and ‘That Other World’. The scorching howl that occasionally rockets from his thorax, meanwhile, is reminiscent of Supergrass’ Gaz Coombes at his most feral.

The contrast in vocal styles works well, but it is a microcosm of this band as a whole. The Quails don’t yet sound like the finished article, as if they’re still scrabbling around for their sound. Too often they stumble from one style to the next. The hubristic guitar solo that concludes ‘Fever’, for example, is a world away from the laboured, tepid balladry of ‘Shining Star’ – two songs which, in a feat of poor sequencing, sit next to each other in the track listing.

One unfortunate constant is that the majority of The Quails songs are too bloated. Their search for creativity has resulted with songs that are often crammed with too many ideas. This results in an album that can sometimes sound a little contrived and false.

The Quails are a band who have built their name on the strength of their live performance. It is this, rather than the studio side of things, that they should develop. At least until they have a broad enough fanbase to merit releasing albums. Their eagerness to release material when they lack the audience for it to make an impact suggests a band that are trying to peak too soon. And unfortunately for them, the summit isn’t quite high enough for that to be a worthy achievement. Not yet.