There are a small number of Irish bands who are constantly evolving, challenging both themselves and their listeners, pushing boundaries and experimenting with new, exciting ideas. The Frames, however, are most definitely not one of them. Hansard and co. have been hanging around the scene like an eggy fart since the early '90s, and with the exception of a couple of semi-enjoyable albums (Dance the Devil, For The Birds), have done absolutely nothing for Irish music except repeatedly dragged it back to sub-Waterboys, dated drivel. The Cost is yet another bland offering of quiet-loud-quiet-let's-stick-in-a-violin-solo-here acoustic-based rock, and is indistinguishable from any other Frames album since the dawn of time (it has been that long, hasn't it?).Some lead singers model themselves on Godly, iconic musical figures, like Robert Plant, Jim Morrison, perhaps even Morrissey (yes, Preston, I'm looking at you); Glen Hansard cuts out the middle-man and aspires to be Jesus Christ himself. The self-styled Ginger Messiah's invariable warble wraps itself distressingly around one slow-burning ballad after another, and that's before you've heard the lyrics (see 'True' - 'I played the saint / And a saint I ain't).Every track here bar one (the admittedly ace title track, an eerie, brooding affair) is hackneyed, monotonous and just bloody downright boring. Falling Slowly's whispered, building stance is more tedious than not only watching paint dry, but waiting for it to flake off the wall; the slightly livelier When Your Mind's Made Up says nothing they haven't said before, and Rise's piteous attempt at emotion ('Together we will fly above it all now') is plain embarrassing. Hansard's perpetually-contrived sincerity and faux-humility surely makes him the most hollow frontman in Irish rock, but easy as it is to slate The Frames, or seize upon any kind of personal vendetta, The Cost simply does nothing to change people's minds one way or the other. If you already dislike them, here's more fuel for the fire; if you're already a fan, pick up your copy, hold it at eye level and smack it off your head repeatedly.
