The Doves: Not Radiohead

After the brilliantly orchestrated chaos of OK Computer redefined what it meant to make a great album amidst the millennial haze, every band with three prerequisites--a guitar, a hint of droopiness and a dash of talent--has earned the title of "THE NEW RADIOHEAD." Travis and Coldplay have worn that badge the longest, but these two bands beg the question: If the "NEW RADIOHEADS" cannot hold a paranoid android to the original, what is the point?

Now, the Doves, with their second release, The Last Broadcast, stand challenger to the throne--poised to fill the void for beautifully moaning, ethereal music that Radiohead left bleeding when it stopped playing guitars in 1997. And, despite mounting a valiant attack, The Last Broadcast fails in its effort for conquest.

The trio, using everything from the glockenspiel to the fugal horn, impressively attempt to evoke several different soundscapes; however, too many of the songs meld together with their affirmation-in-the-face-of-despair floatiness. The Doves are so desperate to break their image of being just another mopey British band that on "Words," they end up sounding like Prozac-gobbling Stuart Smalley converts when Jimi Goodwin sings, "I said words they mean nothing/ So you can't hurt me."

Nevertheless, when they stop feeding their hunger for overly forced cheeriness, the Doves certainly know how to write a devastating ballad. "M62 Song," an adaptation of a King Crimson tune, stuns with its stripped guitars, and "Friday's Dust" gorgeously emerges in the rubble of a broken love affair.

Obviously talented and on the cusp of truly ambitious greatness, The Doves still need to hone their craft if they desire to become "THE NEW RADIOHEAD." Better yet, if they orchestrate more diversified arrangements and learn the subtle art of songwriting on upcoming efforts, future bands may strive to earn the title of "THE NEW DOVES."