Arctic Reviews

All across the country - the world it seems - there are millions of performers whose ambition outshines their talent. People for whom a chord is one leg of a pair of casual trousers. Artists who believe a bar is something to turn up to hoping to get a slot at an open mic night. Troubadours who despite the odds, feedback, abuse, missiles and rejections still believe that one day their ship will come in. And god love us, most of them seem to send in their work to AR.

Whilst this represents good news for charity shops across the north, we often reflect after taking another carrier bag full of CD's to our local Age Concern on why things for these artists manage to get so far from reality. Ok, so you don't have to look much further than the odious king of anti-music Simon Cowell, but in the dock with him must also be a mass of opportunistic parents, chicken-livered friends, teachers, SingStar, Guitar Hero etcetera, et fucking cetera.

Steve Jones we're happy to report is a singer-songwriter. Neither is the Fingerprint EP the kind of tuneless racket which would have him forcibly removed from Hyde Park tube, complete with card and cap, for his own safety. Instead this understated half dozen strong collection of bittersweet songs in reality is a charming, gentle piece of bygone England. That's bygone in the sense of this country BC - before Cowell - when sentiment and introspection were not immediately dismissed as emotions for the socially retarded.

Jones is happy to add a further archaic touch - words that mean something - and in conjunction with a slightly off-centre vocals and a predominantly acoustic outlook, the kind of pop which existed before autotune ensues. It's a slice of non-scene, non-hype, non-contrivance the likes sadly of which we almost never get here unsolicited. And if Fingerprint's songs are about children, chip shops and regret, all the better.