Album Review: Coup de Grace by Miles Kane

Still only 32, Miles Kane has been around a long time having debuted at 18 with cult psych Scouse band The Little Flames followed by his short-lived breakaway outfit The Rascals. After that he formed The Last Shadow Puppets with mate Alex Turner before going solo. Kane started writing his third solo album Coup De Grace soon after his previous offering Don't Forget Who You Are, but the flow was interrupted by making the Puppets' second album Everything You've Come To Expect (released in 2016), after which he found it hard to complete - but once he got in the studio it took just two weeks to record.

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The Scouse rocker re-enters the ring with a wrestling-themed album that, while fitfully inspired, isn't quite the killer blow he hoped for If there's one guy who knows the value of a good collaborator, it's Miles Kane. Thrust from Scouse-rock obscurity to the upper echelons of indie rock notoriety by becoming the retro-bro of Alex Turner in The Last Shadow Puppets, he's since attempted to consolidate a solo career by co-writing with Turner, Ian Broudie of The Lightning Seeds, Paul Weller, Gruff Rhys of Super Furry Animals, Kid Harpoon, Guy Chambers, XTC's Andy Partridge and a whole host of lesser known singers. Pitbull's probably been checking his emails on the hour, but for this third album, a chance reacquaintance in LA led to Jamie T (real name Jamie Treays) taking his turn at the Miles tiller.

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There’s a bullishness about Miles Kane - the kind of self-assured bravado that led the singer to doing an ill-advised topless cover of ‘Hot Stuff’ at a recent summer show - that’s always meant that the people who love him, really love him and they people that don’t, really really fucking don’t. On ‘Coup De Grace’ - the singer’s first new solo album since 2013 - the Scouser isn’t exactly about to become a BBC 6 Music wet dream overnight, but there is something slightly more charming about Miles, third time around. Maybe it’s in the way that he absolutely unashamedly wears his influences on his sleeve; ‘Cry On My Guitar’ is so T-Rex glam rock, it might as well be wearing glitter eyeshadow and a curly wig.

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So you've managed to get into a decent party in Hollywood, the bar is open, the company is starry, life seems fantastic--then suddenly you see a familiar face in the corner. It's that guy. The voice in your head panics. Oh god, what's he doing here? This is the Miles Kane effect: Nobody ever asked for him, but he keeps showing up.

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