AshTwenty-four years ago, Ash were three teenage Irish whelps with fervent Star Wars obsessions, jumping around with loud guitars until they made themselves vomit (which they duly committed to the end of their first album proper). It was loud, bolshy but utterly addictive music.
The good news is Tim Wheeler still has a sharp pen for keeping songs around three-and-a-half minutes, making the most of every second. Confessions In The Pool, for example, is the summery-est earworm he's ever written, so bouncy and delightfully addictive that it's infuriating. Then there's the brash Buzzkill. Crammed with howling guitars, more F-words than your average Tarantino movie and two of The Undertones on backing vocals, you half expect it to end with another euphoric spew.
With such a messy gestation among a devastating break-up for Wheeler and lots of 'finding oneself' travelling while drummer Rick McMurray and bassist Mark Hamilton embraced domestic bliss, it's almost a miracle that Islands is so tight, succinct, reflective (certainly on It's A Trap and Incoming Waves) - joyous, even. Best of all is how purely guitar-centric this album is. It's what Ash have always done best.
