The Verve: Forth

Circa 2008, a new album by The Verve seems like a

hope-for-the-best/prepare-for-the-worst proposition. The British band broke

up—for the second and seemingly final time—in 1999, after a trio of

solid albums and in the wake of two hits, "Bitter Sweet Symphony" and "The

Drugs Don't Work." Frontman Richard Ashcroft went on to a solo career that

vacillated between middling and god-awful, though he still scored commercially

in Europe. Forth

proves that The Verve still has it, and it's all about chemistry. (Take that as

a joke about the band's once-prodigious drug use if you'd like.) The original

lineup, which reunited in 2007, strikes a balance between Ashcroft's love of

wistful ballads and its original purpose: woozy, sometimes rollicking

shoegazing. Forth sounds

like all eras of The Verve mashed together into one potent stew: There's epic

noise (the tellingly titled "Noise Epic"), goopy, hazy balladry ("Valium Skies"),

and at least one irresistible single, "Love Is Noise," whose hook is a jaunty

nonsense backing vocal. Sure, Ashcroft still manages to stumble when he tries

to make nothing-lyrics sound weighty ("I sit and wonder / I often wonder 'bout

the things she does"), but when he's got the rest of The Verve to back him,

even the silliest sentiments (here's looking at you, "Numbness") get lost in

washes of beauty. Keep it together, Verve, keep it together.