In places Thomas Lang’s The German Alphabet is a bit of a blur. It can be like watching clouds crossing the sky, mesmerising, but leaving no distinct trace on my memory. There’s blues and sadness. Lang’s vocals are ethereal, cruising at 10,000 feet. There’s a little bit of jazz in there, a bit of Manilow, and I’m picking up a hint of McAloon. After a shapeless ten minutes, Lang, surprisingly, bursts into big band jazz, and in so doing, bursts into life. The pace and tone picks up a bit, I keep hearing McAloon, and I’m enjoying that. A couple of tracks develop into thrillers, I’m urging them to blossom into James Bond soundtracks.
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