It’s time for that all important second album from Glasgow alt-country band The Scuffers. Following on from “The Life I’ve Had”, Gavin Wallace’s reputation as a songwriter must surely be enhanced with this release but The Scuffers reputation as a band takes a bit of body blow.
Looking at the good points first, there are undoubtedly songs that will bring joy to the hardest of hearts and, in the best country tradition, get a grown man to cry in his beer. Though starting rather awkwardly with the quasi country rock ’n’ roll of “I Want to Take You Home”, the next song up, “Caravans”, was a high point showing an acidic eloquence in the lyrics as holidays in the caravan parks of Scotland are reflected upon (“… we’ve got rocks and condoms and empty cans of Skol”). That’s the work of a master songwriter – ten words and he has summed up the work of the Scottish Tourist Board. Sometimes – rather too often, in fact - the lyrics and the performance don’t quite gel. For example, on the sarcastically acerbic “Here’s To The Days”, Mr Wallace’s deadpan delivery stalls the song entirely. Oddly enough, he seems considerably livelier in the conventional by the book country of “A Man Who Treats You Right”. That does kind of illustrate the problem with the album. It just doesn’t fit into its own boots. Now, there’s quite a bit cast list in the notes for this album so maybe there were line up changes and internal “issues” that caused this lack of focus and confused direction for, stylistically, there isn’t much of a plan in evidence with the Old Crow Medicine Show, the Flying Burrito Bothers and even Delaney & Bonnie coming to mind as comparisons.
Another album by The Scuffers should be cause for celebration. This time it sadly isn’t. As a songwriter, the mercurial Gavin Wallace scores the goals here but the shoddy, shambolic performances derail what should have been a victory (much like Scotland’s football team would do, now that I think about it) and, to continue the metaphor, the careless, cack handed production of Danny Mitchell qualifies him as the new Ally McLeod.
“Scrambled Pictures” is an infuriating album. It’s a mess but underpinning it are some of the finest songs to come from the pen of a Glasgow songwriter this year (or any other year for that matter). Make the effort and you will marvel at the way Mr Wallace can write sentimental songs without ever becoming maudlin or overdosing on saccharine and then, like me, you will start banging your head off the wall. Like I said, infuriating!