star Travis have it all star
the songs, the passion and now an album to adore...


The 06:30 to Blackpool North. It's very early and the journalist has only had two hours sleep. The journalist is overtired and he is sobbing into the hands held over his face. He has just hit the line "I'd really love to come and go / Oh, won't you stay with me?" in Travis's "I Love You Anyways" for the first time. It's a mixture of pride, utter admiration and that gut feeling which travels instantly to the tear ducts when you hear something which perfectly expresses the only thing currently on your mind. The journalist realises that, should he be chosen to review Travis's debut album, he'll have to mention this. The journalist worries about looking more stupid than usual, then curls up, hugs himself better and stops worrying.

In a world which deems it impossible to be all things to all people, Good Feeling manages to make you laugh, sing, cry, dance, hurt and, yeah, rock...the list isn't endless, but the wonderment is. If they occasionlly come across like Radiohead--on the claustrophobic yet victorious portrait of childhood, "Good Day To Die"--that's the beholder's eyes and ears playing tricks, confusing memory of feeling with memory of sound and vision. It's also because, like Thom Yorke, Fran Healy has a voice so open and ready, so expressive and powerful and shameless, that you scurry for the only comparison you can scrape together in time.

And if people sometimes desperately compare Travis to The Wonder Stuff, it's because we've forgotten that music can induce an elation beyond the admittedly invigorating arrogance of an Ashocroft or a Gallagher, and we end up desperately searching for analogues. Any analogues. Travis don't sound like The Wonder Stuff. They sound like a shot of freedom in the curtailed life of a nine-to-five machine. There will be no more important rock album released this year; not by Oasis, not by The Verve, not even by Radiohead. Why? Because, instead of working out how best to affect you, Travis just play the truth as they see it. As it is. Travis play the music you feel, and you feel the music they play.

Halfway through the burning lullaby that is "More Than Us," comes the line "Everybody wants a hand / But I'm too busy holding up the world / To carry on." Sung in mass harmony, it's so clear and graceful, conjuring a mood so stoical yet tragic that the carriage dissolves in a mist of empathy and the journalist has to turn away from the other passengers again.

After the intoxicating vim of Side A--with the cards-on-the-table persuasion of "All I Want To Do Is Rock," the drunken swagger of "Midsummer Night's Dreaming" and the euphoric vertigo of "The Line Is Fine,"--songs like "More Than Us" and the delicate angst of "Falling Down" or the desolate lament of "Funny Thing" fill the second side of "Good Feeling." It's the side you'll find yourself all the more drawn to.

But don't think for a moment that there's any disparity between Travis's two sides. Don't think you'll only like half of what they've done here. Travis, more than any band I have ever know, can be all things to all people. All the time. At least that's how it seems to one person. A person who, pulling into Blackpool North station, has never felt less stupid in his life.

Melody Maker
September 13, 1997
by Robin Bresnark


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