We're not likely to run out of songs of love and/or rock'n'rolling all night any time soon. Knievel have more often gone somewhere different than that anyway in their sporadic – but always welcomed – history. Here, they manage to be nostalgic without cloying. Remembrances are warm, without necessarily being rose-coloured.
Musically, there is just a feeling of everything being in its place on Knievel recordings. This could be due to Wayne Connolly's skills of arrangement and production of ye olde guitar, bass and drums coupled with a band combination that builds near-perfect little towers of songs. There's a soft strolling texture, which just marks their work. Connolly quietly chats through the fuzzy-edged snapshots. They're maybe not quite hip enough to be Instagrams, but you do feel you're standing just on the edge of the frame.
They also never forget they're making pop songs. Subtle ones, sure, but like in The Time I Found My Feet you know the places of them – many of us have known those verandah'd terrace sharehouses that lean into one another. And Tracey Ellis' wordless backing vocals are both a hook and the sound of that girl from downstairs hanging out her jeans, on the Hills Hoist that tangled among the frangipani if you wound it too high.
Elsewhere it looks inward and outward. Realising the worth or otherwise of losing weekends in too much cheap booze or otherwise as They Listen Out, or just trying to fit in through We Lost Sight Of Everyone. The best records are those that don't bash you over the head on first listening, but seep their way into your memories. This is one of those.
