In an ideal world, a side project should allow the artist to cut free from the well-worn grooves of their regular band and try out some imaginative new ideas. The problem with Fat Chance is that Beautiful South frontman Paul Heaton has done exactly the opposite - his over-familiar cynicism weighs down every single second of this impossibly gloomy record, and this time there's no chirpy backing music to lighten the mood. On the evidence of the lyrics here, Heaton hates just about everybody and everything these days, with intellectuals, journalists and holidays topping what turns out to be a frighteningly lengthy list. The grumpy old misanthrope's saving grace has always been his caustic wit, of which there are several welcome glimpses here. But too many songs sound like discarded chippings from The Beautiful South factory, and the mood of unrelenting misery and drabness eventually becomes unbearably depressing. Heaton's talent is not in question, but at the moment you can't help feeling that he's going a funny way about using it.
