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Tindersticks
WAITING FOR THE MOON
(BEGGARS BANQUET)
Stars graphics

You’ve probably seen him, the guy who’s been sliding onto the same rickety stool of the same dingy corner bar at the same time every day for years, waiting for the bartender to offer a silent half-nod and the glass of bourbon that’s been awaiting his arrival. Why does he keep coming back, day after day? Because the place is dark and comfortable, the drinks are stiff, and he can wallow in life’s miseries, if he so chooses, without anyone imploring him to cheer up.

Tindersticks are that guy. For a decade now, the British sextet have been serving up ever-so-slight variations of their patented lush, tortured cabaret pop, which paints an Edward Hopper–like image of Leonard Cohen, Scott Walker, Bryan Ferry, and Jarvis Cocker scattered about some barren lounge and slowly getting hammered. Waiting for the Moon is certainly no different. Singer Stuart Staples’s brooding baritone is the band’s moodiest component — it oozes regret like a freshly opened wound over such aptly titled tracks as "Sometimes It Hurts" and "My Oblivion." "Watchin’ the days go by/isn’t half the fun/It used to be," Staples laments on "Sweet Memory," as a twilight orchestra of lilting strings, gently picked country-blues guitar, muted piano, and humming Hammond B3 organ drapes itself over his dramatic despair. Of the 10 tracks, only "4:48 Psychosis" — a suicide reference — deviates from that instrumental norm with its dreamy Velvets groove and spoken lyrics. But as Tindersticks concluded long ago, when you’ve found your niche and it’s almost flawless, there’s no reason to go anywhere else.

BY MICHAEL ALAN GOLDBERG


Issue Date: August 15 - August 21, 2003
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