Courteeners – ‘Pink Cactus Café’ review: a blinding bright sky that stretches beyond Manchester

24 October, 2024

Courteeners, photo by Michael Clement

“I can’t figure out just where my confidence went” – now there’s a lyric you probably wouldn’t have expected from the Courteeners’ frontman when they first emerged in the ‘00s; formerly Manchester’s other gobby Liam, the bigmouth you were always waiting to strike again. As Fray sings on ‘Solitude Of The Night Bus’, the lead single of seventh album ‘Pink Cactus Café’, he was “too busy working overtime striking a pose”.

READ MORE: Courteeners tell us about ‘Pink Cactus Café’: “If a Mancunian joined HAIM, what would it sound like?”

The neon colours and open-hearted soul of the song speak to the great misunderstanding that surrounds the “only big ‘oop Norf’” indie giants. They pack out Heaton Park and top festivals across the land on the regular because they’ve maintained momentum and have tunes beyond ‘Not Nineteen Forever’. ‘Pink Cactus Café’, a comeback album of sorts, is Courteeners showing what they’re really made of.

It’s been four long years since the chrome-plated but soul-searching ‘More. Again. Forever.’, with the full-time line-up now completed by touring members Joe Cross on bass and Elina Lin on keys and backing vocals. As well as working with the pop-minded Cross, Fray has been talking this up as the most collaborative Courteeners album to date. Having previously gifted the band with the towering ‘Modern Love’, Hurts’ goth-pop heartthrob Theo Hutchcraft works his magic throughout the record, while producer James Skelly of The Coral’s heart-wrangling indie Midas touch can also be felt.

Opener ‘Sweet Surrender’ leans into a fully sun-scorched ‘Screamadelica’ groove as Fray lays down some Guy Garvey-esque portrayals of “another rottweiler in the bar” and “a cockroach in the cubicle”, painting poetry onto the streets of Manchester. Rising Scottish soul artist and regular Courteeners support act Brooke Combe, meanwhile, lays down acoustic guitar with the chugging of a runaway train.

Aussie tearaways DMA’S hop on the arena-crushing ‘The Beginning Of The End’ to form the ultimate indie disco supergroup, with English singer-songwriter Pixey lending her bittersweet tones to the state-of-the-nation address of album highlight ‘First Name Terms’, hitting back at a ruling class who “look away from you and me”, finding “another way to shake the fucking tree” as we “lie back and think of England, but when does England ever think of you?”

It only adds to the full heart, fed mind and kaleidoscopic feel of the record. The escapist whistle-along title track owes a thing or two to some classic ‘60s songwriting, ‘Lu Lu’ takes us to Paris for a heartbreak anthem and a genuinely blind-siding chorus that could bother Radio One with the poppiest of the popsters, and closer ‘Bitten By Unseen Teeth’ has that larger-than-life War On Drugs rush to it. These aren’t songs by parka monkeys drinking Dark Fruits in the landfill of indie; they add up to a colourful sky that stretches way beyond Manchester. There’s confidence, and then there’s this.