Seasonal Swing. Lightships, Electric Cables.

Counterintuitive it may be for Teenage Fanclub bassist Gerard Love's long-awaited, tenderly cultivated full-length to be entitled Electric Cables given that it is an exercise in organic – or more precisely quite acoustic – excellence although wire it into your heart and sparks will surely fly. Under the guise of Lightships, whilst the moniker may be more congenial to search engine workings than Norman Blake and Euros Childs' project Jonny it's stylistically highly comparable to the pair's eponymous one of yesteryear as it's carried along unhurriedly by mellow lullabies which, quite compellingly, are oft devoid of perceptible bass frequencies altogether.

Indeed, again rather pleasantly this element of Electric Cables intensifies in volume and with it protrusion as the record progresses, strutting pompously to the fore on the blooming estival jaunt of Stretching Out and jocund segueing number Photosynthesis, during which Love sighs quite endearingly of sunlight and rainclouds. From such track designation to the vibrant washes of wildlife that the record wears on its verdant sleeve, Electric Cables feels like a release indebted to nature and to the momentary jouissance engendered by the changing of the seasons yet so light and airy is it that although indubitably a record to which many will periodically return, it's perhaps one that'll be tucked away into involuntary hibernation come the biting chill of winter. Two Lines sounds so fragile it may shatter under the impact of a gently frosted petal however with love, Love and spring about it's hereby fortified by a burgeoning, irrepressible gorgeousness. Muddy Rivers too, enwrapped in warm and fuzzy '90s aesthetics, is one to snuggle and sprawl to as our hours of daylight are magically extended. Vaguely akin to the musical equivalent of an afternoon sat atop hazy riverbank, hooked larva lingering unendingly in gushing stream, there are few instantly catchy numbers here within (the flute-propelled Every Blossom is probably its most memorable instance) thus Electric Cables may be deemed one to let wash over the omnipresent reclining figures littered about parks and atop park benches and beside ponds etc.

It is so faint and consequently insouciant – the trippy throwback vibes of Silver and Gold excluded – that it almost feels too enchanting to exist in this debased reality that we inhabit and perhaps as such this maternal embrace of a record may well go unnoticed by many. Moreover for those fortunate enough to experience its dulcet tones, it's unfortunately over in what feels like a stupefying flash of homeliness, comparable in length to the twinkling glare and accompanying shutter clack that incarnates dimly lit familiar scenarios in photographic form for all eternity. However that's little issue for if you've managed to resist sucking thumb and fingers off over its soporific running time play can always again be pressed...