White Lies

To Lose My Life … (Fiction)

With the British music industry still wearing funeral weeds for the death of Oasis, there may be no more suitable soundtrack to that mourning than the debut from Ealing’s White Lies. Formerly the Franz Ferdinand-aping Fear of Flying, this new incarnation of the trio has picked up the banner of dour pomp-pop first lifted by the likes of Echo & the Bunnymen and held resolutely aloft recently by Doves. Twenty years ago, John Hughes would have used them to add English indie cred to some coming-of-age drama. Bassist Charles Cave’s lyrics may be a bit high school histrionic, but when they’re channeled through the soaring pipes of vocalist Harry McVeigh and underlined by his cathedral keyboards, the result is gray-sky epic. It’s not subtle, with “nuance” here meaning “add a 20-piece string section,” but few bands have dared mix glum and grandeur on this scale. (3pm, Xbox 360 stage.)

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This article appears in October 2 • 2009.

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The Chronicle's first Culture Desk editor, Richard has reported on Austin's growing film production and appreciation scene for over a decade. A graduate of the universities of York, Stirling, and UT-Austin, a Rotten Tomatoes certified critic, and eight-time Best of Austin winner, he's currently at work on two books and a play.