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Tindersticks: Soft Tissue review | Alexis Petridis's album of the week
From 70s soul to glowing strings, the cult outfit continue to inhabit their own quiet space on the fringes of the musical landscape, celebrating the beauty in small things
They were a band that remained slightly out of step, too twilit and idiosyncratic for an era when British alternative rock tended to brash primary colours and singalong commerciality, their image too down-at-heel and their mood too downcast, their music more suited to soundtracking the demanding films of French director Claire Denis than the goal roundup on Match of the Day. Elsewhere, there’s a faint Latin-American influence to the rhythm of Nancy, in so far as it sounds like the “bossa nova” setting on a primitive drum machine, and an intriguing interplay between Staples’ Bryan Ferry-ish drawl and the more strident and straightforwardly soulful tone of his vocal foil Gina Foster. If the overall message seems to be about noticing beauty in small things as a bulwark against the ghastliness of 21st-century life, then it’s reflected in the album’s sound, which is abundant with lovely, subtle details: the shimmering keyboard buried deep within Don’t Walk, Run, the delicate smears of violin around Staples’ vocal on The Secret of Breathing.
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