Review: Now as ever, Tindersticks continue to operate in their own beguiling headspace, and the twilit ambience of this ornately arranged elventh album is proof positive that their gentle magic shows no signs of abating. As ever channeling the bedsit melancholia of Leonard Cohen and the arrangement acumen of John Barry, yet with a deftness of touch that could come from no other band, the Nottingham troubadours conjure up their trademark careworn ambience, romantic languor and emotional pull, dealing out a collection of affecting yet understated vignettes that are liable to haunt the listener's waking hours and beyond
Review: If you're a fan of Antony and the Johnsons then Tindersticks should be familiar by now. Or at least Stuart Staples' voice should be, even if you've never come across the band before. But whereas Antony et al exist in a flamboyant queer disco cabaret, this lot occupy a place far less counter cultural, much sweeter and more tender. "No Treasure No Hope" a string-infused, piano-focussed chamber pop declaration of sweet nothings, both for those who are still with us and those who have come and gone. And it's not all romance. Comparisons are made between father's relationship with son and relationship with his own father ("The Old Man's Gait"). Tears falling into beers ("Trees Fall"). And delightful, innocent worlds are presented via songs like "The Amputees". Back on fine, late-night dark barroom form, it's the finest Tindersticks have given us in years.