If Alice had looked Through the Windowpane instead of through the looking-glass, it wouldn't have been Tweedledum, Tweedledee and Humpty Dumpty she'd happen across; instead she'd have encountered furry faced Fyfes, wonky love songs and a band named after a flightless bird. In other words, Guillemots, a London based international collective (apart from the aforementioned Brummie lead singer Fyfe Dangerfield). Somehow managing to perfect the delicate balance between tweeness and cynicism, the London-based quintet created sparks earlier this year with the release of the 'From the Cliffs' EP; a release that alluded to their potential, but didn't quite hit the nail on the head. With Through the Windowpane, however (which includes several tracks from said EP), they've crafted one of the most subtly beautiful albums of the year; a twelve-strong assortment of cinematic compositions, euphoric summer anthems and bittersweet ditties, all dipped in a syrupy nectar and coated in a layer of gravel. Symphonic opener Little Bear gently ushers in punch-drunk gem and potential single of the year, Made Up Love Song #43; this, in turn heralds the exhilaratory glitz of Trains to Brazil. The rest of the album treads a similar path; skewed, effect-laden melodies, dusky atmospherics and understated percussion, all bound together neatly in a Spector-esque package by Dangerfield's passionate warble. Without doubt, Through the Windowpane is a love album, twisted as it may be in parts - but it's a love album without the usual sentimental tripe or soppiness that sullies most bands' efforts at romance. Yet another serious contender for debut album of the year, Guillemots - despite their recent Mercury nomination - have a luminescent future ahead of them.
