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The Guardian - "The Cost" - January 5 2007
Irishness is usually a boon if you need a leg-up in the music business; be that the Eurovision stage, a Snow Patrol-shaped chart foothold or a U2-sized megastadium. Pity the Frames then, the Dublin band whose last album entered the Irish charts at No 1, but who remain also-rans over here. Fronted by former Commitments star Glen Hansard since 1991, the Frames' accomplished, accessible rock is full of bland, building crescendos and lovelorn trajectories. Fire flickers here, though. "Love has been the cause of all this suffering," gripes the title track like a twisted greetings card; while the conclusion of The Side You Never Get to See ("The side you never get to see/ Is alive") suggests a stream of real rage. Hints of Elton John, Coldplay and even Smog haunt this album, and although it often turns lacklustre, its aftertaste lingers. There's grit and gleam in Hansard's vocals, and enough muscle within the melancholy to turn the head and catch the ear. Jude Rodgers, 3/5
STV.tv - "The Cost" - January 2007
With six studio albums to their name, the sounds of The Cost should come as no surprise to fans of The Frames. Gentle acoustics and uplifting melodies cast in a mould of violins and mandolins that, while carrying reverberations of folk, always feels like something so much more. Recorded “live” in a studio somewhere in France, the dynamic changes explored reflect a more expansive and palliative sound that, while maintaining The Frames’ archetypes, feels more intimate and personal. Somehow endearing and filled with its own warmth, The Cost is music for the cusp of the maelstrom - still and ruminative and always just waiting to bubble over an edge that it never quite makes it to. Neil Ferguson
The Sunday Times - "The Cost" - January 2007
THE FRAMES Snow Patrol were the biggest album band in Britain last year: joy for their fans, depressing for detractors, who think they've dumbed down for success. Ireland’s the Frames have never come close to anything commercially comparable, and The Cost shows you why: bluntly, they make Snow Patrol sound like Throbbing Gristle. This is music so unadventurous, so lacking in originality, that even a three-albums-per-year forecourt buyer might blanch. If that seems harsh, check out whimsy-soaked exhibits such as Falling Slowly or Rise: wimpy warbling, soporific instrumentation, cliché-mired lyrics, music wholly without merit or balls. There can be no excuse. One star. Dan Cairns
The Irish Times - "The Cost" - September 2006
A new album from one of the most popular Irish bands of the past 10 years is always something of an event. Will this be the one to finally cross over? The Ticket review
RTÉ - "The Cost" - September 21 2006
Before the release of every Frames album comes the hope/expectation/ assertion that this will be the one to give them the wider international audience they richly deserve. With such goodwill and so many wanting you to succeed comes the argument that The Frames, like many other Irish artists, have been somewhat insulated from the critical rigour that should accompany their work. The answer many would give is that The Frames have never made a dud. And, once again, 'The Cost' is a strong record, but if it does prove to give the band their big breakthrough then the question as to whether its predecessor 'Burn the Maps' was the better album deserves to be asked all the louder. As expected, there isn't any filler on 'The Cost'; it's anthemic, has two classics in 'Song for Someone' and 'Rise' and has that all too rare sound of musicians sparking off each other in a studio. What it also does is rely too heavily on the same tempo. With the exceptions of 'When Your Mind's Made Up' and 'The Side You Never Get to See', the pace is consistently downbeat and, as a result, the album lacks the dynamics of 'Burn the Maps'. Spread these 10 songs out across different records and you've got some show-stoppers, put them all together on one and you'd hope that the setlist doesn't involve playing 'The Cost' in sequence from start to finish. If every album should have one lesson that's the same for both the listener and the artist, the one here is that The Frames have, for the moment, taken the slow song as far as they should and that, in the interests of making sure no-one settles into a comfort zone, the follow-up should be faster, livelier and happier. There's no doubt there are some breathtaking views here, it's just that sometimes the hike is too draining between them. Harry Guerin, 3/5
Hot Press - "The Cost"
I know it’s bad form these days to bring up partition in polite company, but when reviewing a new album by The Frames, there really is no alternative. Ireland, after all, is divided between those who turn each of their gigs into quasi-religious happenings, and those who, should they find the band playing at the bottom of their garden, would gladly pull the curtains shut. Believers view Hansard & Co’s brew of emotive folk-tinged rock as a shining example of durability and authenticity in image-obsessed days. Atheists see it as the grim apotheosis of the strain of phoney singer-songwriting that was especially virulent in Dublin at the latter part of the last decade. Agnostics remain largely unmoved. The Cost, it has to be said, is not a record that will inspire many cross-camp defections. Those who've followed the band along the route they’ve taken, from Dance The Devil, through For The Birds and up to Burn The Maps, will find much here to wave lighters and sing-along to at the gigs. The swoonsome opener ‘Song For Someone’ establishes a template of string-driven balladry that ‘People Get Ready’, ‘The Side You Never Get To See’ and ‘Sad Songs’ take up with gusto. Carrying war-wounds from many different campaigns, you might expect that by now the band’s desire to keep on tilting at the great crossover windmill would have waned somewhat. But, judging by ‘Falling Slowly’, the last-minute skin-saving service that ‘Run’ provided for Snow Patrol may have encouraged them to go over the top once more. The logic is that it could be huge. The unconvinced will no doubt be surprised to find hints (‘The Cost’ and ‘Bad Bone’) of a band attempting to marry harmony with dissonance in a way that could almost see them taking on the mantle of a Celtic Wilco (indeed a previous working relationship with Steve Albini would suggest a sturdier creative instinct than detractors credit The Frames with). Unfortunately, though, with a default setting of bombast, this intriguing prospect is only partially exploited. It’s clear that The Frames inhabit a place in Irish affections similar to the one Paul Weller enjoys in England – review-proof, cocooned by a fanatically loyal fanbase from wider criticism, and locked into a familiar musical space that they seem content to maintain rather than renovate. Fair enough: they have found their metier. But the suspicion lingers that were they to find a way of preaching to the unconverted, the rewards would be much greater.
Colin Carberry
RTÉ - "The Swell Season" - May 22 2006
Through everything - endless years of being labelled the "next big thing", tours to all the remotest corners of this country and many others, the disintegration of record deals - frontman Glen Hansard has always kept faith with The Frames. As a result, 'The Swell Season' - a collaborative project with Czech singer/pianist Markéta Irglová - is his first album independent of the band. And it's far more than just a stopgap between 2004's 'Burn the Maps' and this year's promised follow-up. There are few frills on 'The Swell Season'. Recorded in Prague over just four days with a simple, stripped down quartet - Irglová's piano and Hansard's guitar, bolstered by Marja Tuhkanen on violin and Bertrand Galen's cello - the album spans the downward trajectory of a doomed relationship. There's painful yearning in the heartbreaking 'Falling Slowly' ("Take this sinking boat and point it home/We've still got time, raise your hopeful voice"), self-loathing ('Leave') and despair ('Sleeping' - "And all that you've ever owned/Is packed in the hall to go/ And how am I supposed to live without you?"). The centrepiece of the album is Irglová's piano-driven title song, three minutes of perfect melancholy. She has an airy, pure voice which combines beautifully with Hansard's throughout the album, most memorably on 'Lies' and 'Drown Out'. But it's also strong enough to stand alone on (slightly) hopeful closing track 'Alone Apart'. Perfect end-of-the-evening listening, 'The Swell Season' is a beautiful, soul-wrenching album. For the daylight hours we'll look forward to The Frames' new LP. Caroline Hennessy | ||
Glen
Hansard and Markéta Irglová - The Swell Season
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