Writing about the Hazey Janes should be simple. They're a Scottish band with faux American accents. Their music is unassuming power pop; between the jangly guitars you can hear echos of nifty West coast three part harmonies. There's a spot of self-effacing Bon Jovi fandom in there too - though they just about get away with it. The songs are catchy enough to raise a smile and enjoyable enough to warrant more than one listen. The Hazey Janes seem to have mastered the art of being uncomplicated without being dull.
Oh boy, is that ever damning with faint praise; it's also pretty unfair as I've willingly given the upcoming album 'The Winter That Was' a few repeat hearings.
Carmelite is one of the more boisterous offerings. If I liked it less I'd call it a skillful package of cliches; driven, sweet sounding and not a little soft-rock. They're a little like the post Holy Bible Manic Street Preachers, without the 6th form poetry.
The ingenuous truth is that although the Hazey Janes fall into the (somewhat long-winded) category of dime-a-dozen bands "capable of putting out a decent tune without signifying anything", actually that's okay in this case. They're solid, not boring. Perhaps it's indicative of my current tendency to overdose on lots of angsty, hand-wringing indie and a bit too much electro, but these guys feel like a gust of fresh air; there's unabashed jubilation to be found in their gusto too. They're not so mild that they're inoffensive, but for a simple band they've been a pain in the backside to analyse.