Review of The World Is Outside Album by Ghosts

The World Is Outside
Album Review

I don't know that many people but I have yet to find a person who feels more than impartial about Ghosts, or who thinks they offer something more thought provoking than opening and cooking packet tomato soup. Just add hot water: as uneventful and bland as that. A blaring criticism that has been echoed by most reviews of this album, and, sure you read horrible similes likening a record to the pain involved with eating your own face, but when they're that dire, you really have to listen to them.

So listen I did, to Ghosts' The World is Outside - which of course it is. Just look out your window right about now; it'll be there, and then maybe some sort of astronomic torture parallel will hit you as your jaw makes a desperate attempt to devour your nose as 'Stay the Night' rings from the speakers; but probably not. Ghosts have got the subtle nuances of guitar pop down to a tee, and that means the ringing pianos and soothed vocals of 'Musical Chairs' and 'Mind Games' won't deform your ears into something out of Star Trek, but rather fudge them - with every ironed crease into a sterile boredom; the soundtrack to purgatory. It's fun; sort of. These two songs, along with the title track and 'Further Away' are probably what have led many people to twin this band with Keane, although even with guitars, Ghosts only muster the same non-chalant indie driftwood every time and there isn't the scope that we saw on songs like 'Bedshaped'. Nevertheless, The World is Outside may be, quite terrifically, a very boring record; indie-by-numbers, sleeping-in-mumbers, or whatever neat phrase you wish to use, but it isn't painful. The second half of the album is enjoyable beyond predictably written power-pop, and after confirming your suspicions for the vast majority of the album, 'Wrapped Up in Little Stars' sudden halt of the oozy gooiness to just drums and a quiet gathering of its resources comes as a shock as is the close 'Temporary', which is a triumph to be plucked out at as touching melody at the end of a poor album.

Jamie Curtis