Untitled Document

Q-Feb2001: It's a strange business, British people trading in dusty, backwoods Americana. Keith Richards could carry it off once and, er, that's it. Cultural incongruity notwithstanding, English five-piece Lincoln are adept practitioners of melancholic, brass-kissed country rock poised in a parched landscape somewhere between Calexico and a lost Ry Cooder soundtrack. Partly instrumental, this five-track mini-album throws slide guitar, mariachi trumpet and rickety drums behind minor-chord melodies, interspersed with cinematic field recordings. When he does sing, frontman Alex Gordon executes a maudlin murmur not dissimilar to The Beautiful South's Paul Heaton - effecting on the moody Bullet Proof and elegantly harmonious on the inexplicably titled Johnny Morris. It's all carried off with great brio, though ultimately it's the impression of armchair rock tourism that lingers. DAVID SHEPPARD