Pitchfork

I'll cop to being a member of a group I wouldn't guess is getting bigger: Music critics who still rate Zero 7's Simple Things. Over the past five years, I've heard music nerds-- mostly soul fanatics-- unload crazy amounts of bile on that record, but their most propagated criticisms ("soul with all the black parts removed," "music for lattes") strike me as having too much in common with the rockist's critique of pop to take seriously. Even calling Zero 7 a bad soul outfit would be to miss the point; if anything, with its revolving cast of lead vocalists and electro-acousticisms, this stuff was meant to fill the space left by trip-hop's demise. (That the only people who felt that loss happened to be Starbucks drinkers was a total and utter coincidence.)

Oh man, see? This is such an easy band to mock. They're earnest and conservative and heavy-handed and swim in such deeply unfashionable waters, they have only cod for company-- cod-jazz, cod-soul, cod-funk. But in a strange way, their painful sincerity and abiding uncoolness is what keeps me defending that first record; because it's good despite those things, and on a larger scale, it's a heartening reminder that nothing merits pre-emptive dismissal. So yeah, for a short spell back in 2001, Zero 7 was a three-legged chihuahua that had just won a dog show, and that endeared me to them. But not anymore guys, I'm sorry. So: I'm going to open the car door now, and you're going to awkwardly hop out and maybe go see what's behind that wheatfield over there while I drive away.

Actually, there's one song here I really like. That's "Futures", one of a handful featuring José González on vocals. On its own, González's dry, folksy vocal is 1970s enough, so it's no surprise it should be so well-suited to Henry Binn and Sam Hardaker's buttoned-up production style. With its spiralling acoustic riff and appropriately burbly sonics, its gorgeously languid sheen makes you wonder if, next time out, Zero 7 wouldn't be wise to acknowledge their inner-Gerry Rafferty and head straight for the punchbowl marked "MOR".

That would, without question, be better than what we get here, which-- barring two other González tracks, "Left Behind" and "Today"-- is a warmed-over stew of scrubbed-up psychedelia, scrubbed-up sunshine pop, scrubbed-up soundtrack music, electrofunk, and lounge that's all produced immaculately, right down to the "messy" parts. In addition to González, The Garden's other major guest is Sia Furler, who contributes songwriting credits and vocals to six of its 12 tracks. While I like Sia-- even despite her affected vocal and her nagging tendency to oversing-- this is not her finest hour. "Catch a falling star/ You'll go far/ In the pageant of the bizarre/ And tonight I give you my heart," goes the cloying fairground pop of "Pageant of the Bizarre", before spinning off into an ill-advised Beach Boys vocal outro.

Even worse are the perfunctory instrumental tracks-- the pseudo-broken beat of "Seeing Things" and the midnight jazz of "Your Place"-- which only further mottle the record's intent and give the impression that, if left to their own devices, Zero 7's principles would rather be making a Ninja Tune record. I don't know what I'd rather they were doing, but I do know that this is so tasteful I'm going to need about six hours with Boris to get right again.