There's a certain air of carefully constructed mystery surrounding who or what Sullem Voe is or are.
A variant spelling of Sullom Voe corresponds to a stretch of water in Scotland's Shetland Islands which doesn't shed much light on the puzzle.
The accompanying press release doesn't help much either. It speaks of "a debut album from a Derry outfit" although Googling around suggests that this is not an 'outfit' at all but principally the brainchild of one individual, namely Rory Donaghy, a music producer at Derry's Blast Furnace Recording studio in North West Ireland.
A musical manifesto declares that Sullem Voe is not so much a band but rather "a project for musical experimentation. A counterweight against all the soulless, hollowed out, homogenized and inescapable noise that masquerades as music".
On reading this, I was braced for a gruelling blast of avant-garde ranting. Instead, what I found was a dozen warm and occasionally delicate electro-pop songs.
The album opens with 'The Lonely Planet' which features a very plummy upper class English voice speaking over some gentle Lemon Jelly style electronica backing. This unnamed male presenter asks us to imagine what Earth looks like from afar and leads you to expect a concept album of sorts. But if there is any common theme I confess I didn't identify one.
The rest of the album has quite a different flavour from this first track. The next two songs, for instance, rock out in a post-Grunge Foo Fighter-ish fashion.
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Other tunes like 'Into The Sun' and 'What Else' have a glitchy In Rainbows feel while How Come? and Homeland are deceptively simple pop songs whose superficial sweetness hides underlying hints of malice and rage. A lyric like "you wouldn't like me when I get angry" (on Homeland) sounds more menacing in this context than it would be if was part of a snarling punk song.
The quietly subversive spirit of the record has some similarities to The Super Furry Animals, another band whose slick production values lull you into a false sense of security.
Nonetheless, there isn't much of an edge to the final track. Satyr's Lullaby is a pretty duet with Mary Dillon (former singer with traditional Celtic folk group Deanta) which ends the album on a decidedly non confrontational note.
The eclectic content means that the record lacks a clear shape or defined focus Although it is an intelligent pop record and a highly accomplished debut, it is an album that ultimately promises more than it delivers.
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