CD: The LaFontaines - Class

The LaFontaines are one of Scotland’s biggest new bands but have yet to make the same impact south of the border. There is, however, nothing about their debut album that’s parochial. To make a crude comparison, they sound, at first, like a grime-flavoured Biffy Clyro. What makes them stand out is the rapping of frontman Kerr Okan, whose lyrics occasionally land a punch. What’s less appealing is an over-reliance on predictable air-punching choruses, tiresomely tailored for giant venues.

The five-piece from Motherwell have gone the traditional route of endless touring, building a devoted fan-base, and their music is tight, bursting with energy. They know their way round songwriting too. The band they most recall is Lostprophets, but I don’t think we’re even allowed to mention that lot now (although they had some great songs – “Burn Burn” is a belter, but is it now forever indelibly associated with the image of their frontman trying to have sex with a baby?).

What renders any comparisons clunky is the MCing. Okan dominates with a flow that’s bouncy and obvious but has an honesty to it. The lyrics to the title track, for instance, refer at one point to wealthy peers at school – “Money runs dry and you need a top-up, you can always call Dad, you can tell him, 'Cough Up,' tell him, 'Cough up, Dad, taking a gap year so don’t get mad'… like a super-rich goon, little baby tycoon, all that money don’t make you rich.” It’s not exactly poetic but it has a blunt poppy zest and forthrightness.

The best of Class is gauche but enjoyable. The opening “Slow Elvis” is a mission statement with a Kasabian-like stomp, “All Gone”, with it’s quiet-loud-quiet dynamic, has stadium heft, and “Paper Chase”, funky and contagious, sounds like it belongs at the top of the charts. The LaFontaines are a band likely to divide people: their artless passion can come over as depth-free and irritating, but there’s a vigour here that’s undeniable.

Overleaf: Watch the video for "King"