The birthplace, they say, often maketh the band: the place sets the pace. And so it was with Thirteen Senses. In the sleepy coastal town of Penzance, Cornwall in 2001, they admit they “lived life at about five miles an hour - three if you’re stuck behind a tractorâ€. So no wonder the music that Will South was writing as a schoolboy, cooped up in his bedroom in a reverie of sea air and Mercury Rev and Grandaddy records, was of a languid and pastoral hue.
Magnificent, panoramic and elegant music, yes – searing pop soundscapes like ‘Thru The Glass’, ‘Do No Wrong’ and ‘Into The Fire’ were flooding from his fragile falsetto. As a group, Thirteen Senses increasingly became a product of their environment; lush, laid-back countryside atmospherics inflected their souls and sweetened their sound.They honed their songcraft around the pubs of Cornwall and fired out demos over two years until they were signed to Vertigo records in November of 2003.
Their debut album ‘The Invitation’ arrived in 2004 – part Mercury Rev, part Coldplay, part jewel-encrusted slice of Saturn ring. Thirteen Senses then set about steadily touring their album at home and abroad, enjoying chart success with the ‘Into The Fire’ and ‘Thru The Glass’ singles, reaching Gold status and becoming darlings of press and radio.
After an entire debut album campaign passing in what seemed like an instant, it was time to shake the Cornwall lethargy from their veins and relocate. By the time their year on the road wound to an end with an Astoria headline show in May 2005 it had become a hometown gig – Thirteen Senses were now an arse-kicking urban rock band from London and they were determined to make their second album rattle and roll with a Westway rumble.
While still recognisably Thirteen Senses – the guitars still surf the ionosphere on gilded wings, the rhythm section still provide an Ayers Rock sized backing, Will still sings like a choirgirl lost in a big wood – second album ‘Contact’ is a far more vital, pulsing ROCK record; from the thunderous lilting piano bit/big stompy guitar bit battle of the title track (think Metallica beating the living crap out of Coldplay’s ‘The Scientist’, really tunefully) to the dark-yet-delirious, siren-swathed fuzz rock of ‘Animal’ (debuted at 2005’s triumphant V festival appearance) to the wiry beauty of ‘Follow Me’ or the electronic throb pop of ‘Spirals’. If ‘The Invitation’ felt like a sleepy stretch, ‘Contact’ feels like a reach for the stratosphere.
Contact is indeed, the record of their lives – a vibrant, scintillating and goddamn HUGE album that fulfils every ounce of their initial promise and exposes whole new realms of broiling pop thunder. No country meander this; in the heady realm of swoony piano arena rock, this is an inner-city burn-up. It’s a lot more urgent and a lot more forceful without just being turned up a couple of notches. "We’ve tried to give it more impact. We mean business this time round,†says Will. “It’s a lot harder, a lot grittier. We want everyone to know who Thirteen Senses are.†And more importantly, where they’re now coming from. Set pace to ‘rocket’
