Before the opening bars even kick in, you know that Gruff Rhys's second solo album is a marked improvement upon its predecessor. Why such a brazen assumption? Well, for starters, Candylion is infinitely easier to pronounce than Yr Atal Genhedlaeth. When the opening bars do kick in, it's incontestable that Candylion is different beast altogether. Though Yr Atal Genhedlaeth was a sometimes-charming, always-rough 'round the edges little album, its scope was somewhat limited by Rhys's all-Welsh lyrics, its scratchy, demo-like feel and perhaps even the lack of other musicians on the album (he played most of the instruments himself). This time around, he's roped in Sean O'Hagan (ex-Microdisney) of The High Llamas, and Lisa Jen of Welsh folk group 9Bach, and relinquished, for the most part, his beloved native language, and the difference is palpable. Candylion is, above all else, a pop album; recorded in locations as disparate as Llanfaelog and Rio de Janeiro, its tracks stumble from trippy folk to '70s sci-fi psychedelia but always retain a candid poppy playfulness that wasn't seen on his first release. The title track is a harmonious little ditty that's catchier than a case of summer 'flu, while Gyrru Gyrru Gyrru (translated as 'Drive Drive Drive') squeaks and bubbles along the same cheeky pop furrow as epic (and overlong, at fourteen minutes) closer Skylon. The Court of King Arthur's acoustic thrum and harmonica riff could easily be likened to early Cat Stevens, while Painting People Blue's hushed space-folk is almost Pentangle/Fairport Convention-esque in its delivery. Despite the fact that there are subtle nods to so many genres (including electronica (Con Carino) and jazzy psychedelic-era Beatles (Now That the Feeling Has Gone)), Candylion is generally a reasonably tame and sweet-natured beast. Just as well, with a keeper so Gruff.
