The Lost Brothers - 'Trails Of The Lonely (Parts I&III)' (Bird Dog) Released 17/11/08

With the mornings colder, the days shorter and the evenings darker ‘Trails Of The Lonely (Parts I&III)’ announces itself with the warm strum of an autumnal yawn; the kind of yawn that declares a predictably appreciative boredom of falling leaves and shades of brown, orange, yellow and red. Halfway between summer and Christmas this is a slow burner of an album and one in which the Irish siblings’ primarily acoustic preference, alongside an anonymous Transatlantic drawl, finds solace between the superfluous mundanity of Jack Johnson and the above average honesty of a pub duo. 

Imbued with straightforward folk-pop familiarity, ‘Angry At The Sun’ and ‘Fallen’ are if nothing else frustratingly familiar and although hard pushed to remember the specifics, contain enough appeal to induce foot tapping, head nodding and maybe even off key improvised humming as befits their organic atmospherics. Despite displaying adequate musical ability and an intimate charm befitting of an old fashioned snug, ‘Ribbons And Bows’, ‘City Of The Rose’ and ‘No Tears For November’ does little more than serve a lethargic excess of unnecessary rhymes and short-sighted narratives from a scrapbook of limited ideas.

While ‘Refuge’ and ‘Mary In The Morning’ largely stay rooted to a by now heard this one before spot, ‘Wake Me Up’, ‘Under The Turquoise Sky’ and ‘Last Day On The Job’ somehow escape the acoustic grasp of forlorn safety and let slip simplistic promise. By no means are the Brothers Lost lyrical geniuses, but left in someone else’s hands (think James Skelly perhaps) and you can’t help but feel that their potential could be fully realised.

‘Trails Of The Lonely (Parts I&III)’ is an album that’s been there and done that but not quite as well as countless others before them. It does however contain a reassuring intimacy that can surprisingly change your opinion throughout by unsuspectingly growing on you with each track despite the fact that the soft lullaby strum of ‘Dream No More’ and ‘That’s Just Me’ might just thwart repeated listening.