The Courteeners: 'St. Jude'

The last time a bunch of swaggering Mancunians released an album with religious connotations in the title the result was an undignified musical splurge called The Second Coming. Its 66 minutes of coke-fuelled excess effectively killed off The Stone Roses in one elongated jangly guitar solo. Liam Fray, a man with a big enough mouth to gobble up the Gallagher brothers for breakfast and an encyclopaedic knowledge of Northern rock history, would be only too aware of the irony if St. Jude dealt The Courteeners a similarly messy fate. The self-glorifying soundbites Fray spouted at the turn of the year may have snagged the ear, but they also earned him a legion of followers expecting messiah-like genius from this debut LP. Surely not even Fray could offer that?

Well, not quite, but St. Jude is certainly impressive. Filled with towering, 12-storey guitar anthems and brimming with character, The Courteeners smash home the fact that they mean business. From the grinding, drill-like guitars and haunting chimes of 'Aftershow', to the dance culture-baiting frivolity of 'Cavorting' (sample lyric: "Your club is full of over-rated, dehydrated, goggle-eyed girls"), to the glorious sunshine-pop of 'Not Nineteen Forever', the album's relentless assault of indie goodness is akin to having Zane Lowe take over your stereo system. The fatherly influence of Stephen Street, who's previously twiddled knobs for the likes of The Smiths, Blur and Babyshambles, permeates the album, with his penchant for brassy and bold indie straddling the album's core.

Unfortunately, there is also a frailty to The Courteeners, with the band sometimes resorting to pastiche and mimicry. When Fray sings about sounding like "a Morrissey with some strings" ('What Took You So Long?') and "coming up smelling of Roses"('No You Didn't, No You Don't'), he probably imagined being lined up for a coronation alongside Manchester's musical greats. Sadly, it only serves to highlight the band's often comical lack of originality. At times they sound like a muscular, gym-trained Babyshambles ('Bide Your Time'), but without the danger or romanticism of Doherty; when things get worse ('Kings of the New Road') they come off like a Kings of Leon pub covers band.

However, behind this struggle for their own musical identity are enough glinting gems to hold our attention. Most notably, Fray's knack for humourous, observational lyrics show up many of his pedestrian indie contemporaries - we're looking at you Johnny Borrell! He unleashes a scatter-shot of verbal bile across the album, tackling targets as diverse as booze Britain ('Bide Your Time'), Manchester fashionistas ('Fallowfield Hillbilly') and MySpace ('What Took You So Long'). If Fray channels his aggression and can rein in his indulgences, he may yet become a classic songwriter. It would be harsh to judge any band by the targets The Courteeners set themselves; if they're not finishing a five-night residence at Knebworth come the end of the year, Fray will probably be disappointed. So while St. Jude may not reach those lofty heights, on its own merits it's supreme.