West Yorkshire based POCKET OF THREE make use of the intriguing line up of bass, drums, lap slide guitar and saxophone. However, the overall feel of their debut EP is of a band forcing all their respective talents and influences into a box that doesn't quite fit.
Their EP glides into view on a moody wave of Dave Gilmour style guitar. It's a low key beginning which hints at a depth that the subsequent 15 minutes fails to deliver. The first song jerks into life with a syncopated slide guitar being joined by the rest of the band but the sound is immediately cluttered. The performances aren't tight enough to be stunning, and while they may be a formidable prospect live, the recording here is too weak to blow you away with any raw power.
It's this mix that places Oli Pluck's lead vocals at the centre of Pocket Of Three's sound. He has an extremely competent voice, but it feels like it should be fronting an early nineties grunge band rather than some funk hybrid collective. Unfortunately the huge character of his voice (and his regrettable habit of lapsing into fake American pronunciation), is too much of a weight for the rest of the band to bear. They end up sounding completely separate from each other.
There are ideas in abundance with blends of blues, funk, and even Americana all apparent, but these seem to be fighting for attention rather than combining in any real way. As opener 'Head for the Door' ends in a flurry of completely superfluous wah-wah guitar histrionics, the impression you get is of a band trying to throw as many ideas at the wall in vain hope that something sticks. 'Burnt Out' finds the group in purely funk territory. There are some great Zuton-esque saxophone stabs but a frustrating lack of imagination in anything else. Using a pretty standard genre, the only way the band members insert their originality into the music is by taking turns on instrumental fills. It's no different from any funk group you'd find playing in town on a Saturday night. That is until Pluck announces in his dubious intonation that he has been "down at the crossroads" (of Wakefield no doubt). At that point it gets much worse.
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The circular guitar and gentler vocal delivery in 'Saturn's Return' are an improvement. Despite the technically intricate drumming, the band resists falling into brain-dead funk mode again and the tangible restraint of the rhythm guitar really allows the vocals to wash over the song. Here however, it's the saxophone that muddles up the sound with a tone that doesn't fit the mood of the song. Grand finale 'Cinnamon on Toast' is an ode to working holiday seasons in Greece. Whether it's meant to be sarcastic or humorous is never really evident. The lasting impression you get when we reach the refrain of "You've got to take off all of your clothesÂ" is that it's nothing short of vile.
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