The Free French. Are we any good.

A Place Of Our Own

This was almost universally ignored, and when it wasn't ignored, it was panned. The reasons for this mystify me at the moment, but I guess it all may become clear with the benefit of hindsight.

It’s Not Me, It’s You

Drawing from the work of those great bastions of pop, Bacharach and Brian Wilson, ‘It’s Not Me, It’s You’ is a deliciously flighty collection of wholesome melodies and contagious West Coast leanings. Lively and itching with hooks, The Free French rock with an assurance that belies their relative obscurity. (Logo)

A lucky bag of tuneful tales… There's work going into the melodies and arrangements here, and it shows. Opener "Scatterbrain" blends Surf's Up era melancholy with no less an instrument than the musical saw, to heart-rending effect. (Record Collector)

A perfect blend of unbridled enthusiasm and reasoned craftsmanship. Combines the melodic complexity of Brian Wilson with the intellectual brilliance of Scritti Politti… witty lyrics and intoxicating melodies, intellectually cohesive yet enjoyably throwaway. (Uncut)

The best record to mention Ribena since Ian Dury's "Billericay Dickie". (TNT)

Running On Batteries

Do You Come Here Often is a gushing power pop paean to the mundane thrills of office romance… These south London-based oddballs are highly promising pop scamps (NME)

A pop cheesecake that doesn’t stick to the roof of your mouth. (Careless Talk Costs Lives)

Intelligent and idiosyncratic Britpop from a man you suspect will go on doing this for ever – and why not. (C4 teletext)

Marsden’s ability to litter his simple tunes with unexpected chord, tempo and emotional transitions will keep you coming back to these mini-pop epics time after time. (Uncut)

The choruses will grab you and fling you joyously into the air. If you're unconvinced of the brilliance ofter the valium induced "Let's Stay Up For Ever" or the energetic cheek of "Do You Come Here Often", I despair. (Flux)





	how things are going what went on who we are where we're playing what things look like what things sound like what we're singing things people said you say hello places we go
				A Place Of Our Own This was almost universally ignored, and when it wasn't ignored, it was panned. The reasons for this mystify me at the moment, but I guess it all may become clear with the benefit of hindsight. It’s Not Me, It’s You Drawing from the work of those great bastions of pop, Bacharach and Brian Wilson, ‘It’s Not Me, It’s You’ is a deliciously flighty collection of wholesome melodies and contagious West Coast leanings. Lively and itching with hooks, The Free French rock with an assurance that belies their relative obscurity. (Logo) A lucky bag of tuneful tales… There's work going into the melodies and arrangements here, and it shows. Opener "Scatterbrain" blends Surf's Up era melancholy with no less an instrument than the musical saw, to heart-rending effect. (Record Collector) A perfect blend of unbridled enthusiasm and reasoned craftsmanship. Combines the melodic complexity of Brian Wilson with the intellectual brilliance of Scritti Politti… witty lyrics and intoxicating melodies, intellectually cohesive yet enjoyably throwaway. (Uncut) The best record to mention Ribena since Ian Dury's "Billericay Dickie". (TNT) Running On Batteries Do You Come Here Often is a gushing power pop paean to the mundane thrills of office romance… These south London-based oddballs are highly promising pop scamps (NME) A pop cheesecake that doesn’t stick to the roof of your mouth. (Careless Talk Costs Lives) Intelligent and idiosyncratic Britpop from a man you suspect will go on doing this for ever – and why not. (C4 teletext) Marsden’s ability to litter his simple tunes with unexpected chord, tempo and emotional transitions will keep you coming back to these mini-pop epics time after time. (Uncut) The choruses will grab you and fling you joyously into the air. If you're unconvinced of the brilliance ofter the valium induced "Let's Stay Up For Ever" or the energetic cheek of "Do You Come Here Often", I despair. (Flux)