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Three People Album (Pickled Egg)

Leonard's Lair, June 2001
Yet another fine group to have come to prominence as a result of the 'Head In The Clouds' compilation, Fariña offer their own peculiar brand of low-budget pop on their debut album. Recorded on an 8-track and making beautiful noises from less modish instruments such as autoharp, melodica, lap steel guitar and ancient keyboards the songs emerge as either enticing curios or in some cases genuine magnificence. One such moment occurs on the undoubted standout track, 'Regret In Advance' in which Mark Brend reveals himself to have one of those fragile voices that speaks of heartache and yearning; also worthy of special mention are the gloriously nostalgic 'Twilight Of The Empire' and the 60's flavoured pop of 'Heaven's Gate' and 'Confession TV'. 'Three People' was actually recorded over a period of 5 years but it captures the zeitgeist for lo-fi pop very well indeed. (Jonathan Leonard)

Sodapop Webzine, June 2001
And this is the debut by the London trio Fariña. When you first give it a listen the songs can seem a bit dull and not very original, but after it had spent a bit of time in my CD player I couldn't get their very 60s and 70s influenced melodies out of my head. There's a bit of everything, from Palace (Two People) to Smog (Twilight Of The Empire), the Beach Boys or Flaming Lips or even Morricone (the opening Fariña, with trombone, which, in practice turns out to be the leitmotiv of the whole record). They've taken four years to write all the songs on this record, first of all recorded at home on just an 8-track, then polished a bit in the studio with the help of a computer adding a few more or less electronic shades. An eclectic record, as fresh as spring and as light-hearted as a night out with your mates. Nice. (Federico)

Rockdelux Magazine, June 2001
Classic songwriting is undergoing a crisis. Every day a thousand groups are born, and in their search for new horizons for pop music, they forget that the health of this genre necessarily means more and better songs. In the shameless world in which they have to live, records like "Regeneration" (The Divine Comedy), "Quiet Is The New Loud" (Kings Of Convenience) or "Juke Box" (Les Valentins) mean a reinvigorating magic, armed with sadness but inspiring songs which, with a bit of luck, may alleviate a depression somewhat: pop inspires life, and sometimes it even manages harmony. Pop as we've always known it is the raison d'être - and consequence - of the debut by the London trio Fariña, "Three People", which is cause for some optimism about the crisis in songwriting - here there are echoes of Shack ("If She Should Blame Him"), The Go-Betweens ("Two People", "Liberty") or Prefab Sprout ("Regret In Advance")- and they even allow themselves a few atmospheric nods to the spaghetti westerns of Ennio Morricone and the gold-wrought orchestrations of Talk Talk. Mark Brend captures the feeling with a vibrant voice, articulating a tour around his memories and sorrows, attempting to understand, but without arriving at anything other than a catalogue of longing; sometimes beautiful, sometimes humorous. All they want is for someone to listen to them and share some of this nostalgia with them. (Juan Manuel Freire)

Q Magazine, May 2001
Aching debut from London trio steeped in obscure singer-songwriter mores.
There can be few musicians whose benchmarks are cult troubadours David Ackles, Mickey Newbury and Tim Hardin. However, for Farina (named after '60s folk musician/author Richard), these grainy, turn-of-the-'70s vignettes constitute an unsurpassed wellspring of sophisticated pop that knocks your Coldplays and David Grays into a cloth cap. Vocalist Mark Brend sings with a studiously resigned air on Heaven's Gate and Regret In Advance, while keyboardist Mat Gale turns in a plaintive tale of woe on the resolutely old-fashioned ballad, Animals In The Zoo. Elsewhere trumpets resound nostalgically, guitars chime like church bells on a summer's day, and on the infinitely catchy Confession TV swooning melody rules the day - albeit inevitably etched with melancholy. Apparently they do make them like this anymore. **** (David Sheppard)

Mucchio Selvaggio, April 2001
On the other hand, Three People, the first album by Farina, a trio based in London, is a slightly livelier affair. They make pop with long, jazzy brush strokes (as in the main Farina theme). A classical compositional style is combined with a sound both created by fairly simple instrumentation, with a deliberately low-budget feel: the result is an unusual, involving album, precisely because it is both light and melancholic at the same time (Shooting Stars, Heaven's Gate), not desperately seeking any great novelty, but a clear, thoughtful manifestation of sensations which have been allowed to pour out into time: one example of this latter is the closing and highly significant Twilight Of The Empire. The almost constant presence of the wind instruments and the piano (as in the touching Two People) adds a touch of movement to the traditional use of guitar, bass and drums, which, probably, avoids any excessively repetitive pieces. As a result, none of the twelve tracks is too heavy or sounds out of place and, on the contrary, it all gels together well as a whole, constantly homogeneous, and decidedly pleasant. (Valero Pescatore)

Dream Magazine, issue #2, April 2001
The recording sessions for Three People started in 1995, and concluded in the Spring of 2000. It was all accomplished on a Fostex 8-track, a Tascam porta-studio, a 282 computer, and a reel to reel tape recorder, and though it took awhile, it sounds like a million bucks on a zero budget. The trio of Mark Brend on lead vocals, Cliff Glanfield, and Matt Gale, all are multi-instrumentalists, and they all contribute to the songwriting process. The lushly ambitious compositions and instrumentation, rival and best, those with endless budgets. Augmenting the standard guitar, bass, piano and drums; are accordion, melodica, organ, lap steel, trumpet, autoharp, subtle electronics, and found sounds. Their mutual muse is the singer-songwriter sounds of the late 60's and early 70's, (Brend has recently written a book on the subject called American Troubadours) their self-confessed influences include David Ackles, Ennio Morricone, Peter Perrett (of The Only Ones), and Talk Talk. You can hear traces of those influences, and much more over the course of the dozen tracks presented here, but there's no overt imitation going on, just kindred spirits making a wonderful kind of pop music. It's, songwriting, imagination, great ears, and a brilliant sense of how to pull the heartstrings, and communicate real emotional feeling. This really takes you somewhere, and it's a grand journey. This is the kind of music Tim Hardin and Epic Soundtracks might be making in Heaven right now, as it is, this is one of the finest debut album's I've ever heard here on Earth, I'd suggest you avail yourself of a copy, post haste. (George Parsons)

Kinda Muzik Webzine, 13th April 2001
Farina combine fragile melancholic pop songs with a partiality to old synthesizers and Ennio Morricone-style trumpet. They call the result "zero-budget pop symphonies". Good description, but if it doesn't help you, just think of Mercury Rev. And no, they are not cleverly mixing the two hip things of the moment, "Quiet is the New Loud" and vintage synthesizers, because they started working on the album already in the summer of 1995. The only minor problem of this otherwise very good album are the vocals. Both Mark Brend, who sings on ten tracks, and Matt Gale (The trio's third member is Cliff Garfield.), who does so on two, sound thin and shaky. Often this shakiness adds an extra edge of melancholy, as in the brilliant 'Liberty' and 'Regret in Advance', but some of the more pop-style songs would have benefited from a better singer. Still, this is the excellent soundtrack for Springs like this, ones that just won't seem to start. (Martijn ter Haar)

Blow Up, March 2001
Nigel from Pickled Egg gets a lot of demos and going through them all is quite a job. But the London-based group Farina stood out because they're not just a bunch of kids fresh out of school; they've been around on the independent market for years, recording for Bam Caruso under the names of The Palace Of Light and Mabel Joy, showing their love for the sounds of the sixties and seventies and Australian groups of the 80s. The album, and the single which preceded it, is a tribute not only to Farina's music but also to just how far they've come; it takes more than one listen to be hooked by the melodies because they are hiding under layers of old sounds with sweet shades of noir. The album includes numbers written between 1995 and 2000. First of all they were recorded on an eight-track and then later they were processed on the computer with a wide range of samples of both old and new, electronic and acoustic instruments; it's difficult not to be struck by the opening trumpet phrasing which is pure Morricone (Farina) and every number has little subtleties of this sort. A piece of work made up of songs, which linger on behind without getting bogged down, which pick up and develop themes without dwelling on a single genre, which can involve you and give you moments of carefree joy. (7/8) (Salvo Pinzone)

Informativos.Net, March 2001
Behind this Hispanic sounding name hides FARIÑA, a London trio who have previously made singles for labels such as Bad Jazz or Pickled Egg - as here. Now they've released their debut album, full of songs which have nothing whatsoever to do with the general British feel and are soaked in the sound of Morricone, the silhouette of the Beach Boys at their most austere, the echo of Tim Hardin, a classic sound which Brit-pop has laid waste to since it disappeared in the United Kingdom.

It may be that they have something in common with some of the recent stuff by The Bitter Springs, maybe they sound a bit like Tindersticks if they weren't quite so theatrical, but one thing is for sure: whatever comparisons you may try and make, FARIÑA is a group with an identity of its own, with a finely-honed sound and a set of truly delightful songs. This is the only way to define the monumental "Two people", the intimate aureole of "Shooting stars", the solemn "If she should blame him" or the marvellous "Liberty", some of the most essential minutes of music we've heard this year. Seconds which help us to assess the greatness of a remarkable record. (Jesus Castillo)

Losing Today magazine, March 2001
The Pickled Egg bandwagon continues in what promises to be a fruitful year for the label given the intended schedule. First up is the spanking debut from Farina. What can I say, an album deploying its fair share of nostalgic and melancholic brass to create a gentle pulsing and thoughtful tear-dropping and heartbreaking soundtrack.

Farina seem content to bask in a time locked tradition of sophisticated orchestral like pop that shares centre stage with the likes of L'Augmentation and label mates Big Eyes, but where these two immerse themselves in shades of francophile perfection, Farina are proud to be and sound vehemently English, recasting the Farmers Boys as Cockney Rebel and Alan Price in a time honoured tradition of music hall that falls short of the cockney mock up of Blur.

That said, it only tells half the story, finely mastered songwriting is the key here, often melancholic but never contrived or dull. 'Regret in Advance', for instance, is quite a salute to modern day Prefab Sprout, you can almost imagine Paddy McAloon kicking himself that such a gem never came from his pen, and yes it is that polished. The same can be said about 'Animals in the Zoo', a breezily twisted romantic ode. 'If she should blame him', featuring last issues merit for best whistle on a track, gets the award two issues running. A haunting track that in its simplistic beauty still manages to leave me dumbstruck in sheer amazement.

'Dust', on the other hand, is probably the album's most introspective moment, toying vaguely with the styles adopted by Lennon and McCartney on some of the Beatles more poignant classics such as Eleanor Rigby and She's Leaving Home. An immense achievement and example of the wealth of styles and skills this band can call upon.

'Confession TV', the recent Bad Jazz single, unusually ups the albums pace, coming across like it was inspired by the Teardrop Explodes, Lightning Seeds and shades of the pop-tastic Boo Raddleys. An extreme example of just how much sublimely throwaway pop you can force into three and a half minutes of space. If at the end of this you still needed convincing of this album's worth then look no further than the closing track, 'Twilight of the Empire'. Delicately reflective, part sombre, part breezy, the shrill of the brass adding a film noire perspective to the proceedings.

Three People will mesmerize you with its depth of beauty, a personal album for a private moment of reflection. Gorgeous. (Mark Barton)

The Sunday Times, 25th March 2001
Farina's debut, meanwhile, sees the re-emergence of another homegrown hero, Mark Brend. In the mid-80's the baroque, Scott Walker stylings of his Palace of Light were hopelessly out of step with prevailing trends, but Farina's less histrionic, handmade approach recasts once overwhelming epics like If She Should Blame Him as intimate confessionals. (Stewart Lee)

POPnews, February 2001
Finally. Whereas it's fashionable to talk about a revival in old-fashioned song writing, which is supposedly on the mend again, here's a record made by three Londoners (hence the title), who have discreetly crafted a work which they have really allowed to mature (the recording took place over a period of five years, in their spare time).

After a cute instrumental opening, "Two People" starts with a pop song of the type that nobody does anymore nowadays, combining melancholy with a truly lovely chorus, before embarking on a pulsating end section where the piano and the trumpet lead the dance. But we already knew that one. Then comes "Liberty", a great song of the sort that only the Go-Betweens know how to do. No symphonic delirium here, no superfluous gilding the lily, Fariña use whatever they can lay their hands on (synth, trumpet, melodica, etc.) to deck out their songs and it is never a question of lo-fi or minimalism... so, there's no point getting out a string section to do some prettily orchestrated pop. And this clever DIY side also reinforces the touching aspect of this music, the impalpable melancholy ("Animals in the Zoo", "Shooting Stars"). Even when Fariña have a go at a hit ("Confession T.V.") in a demonstrative way, it works and hard though I've tried I've not managed to find a single weak song on this record... (not everyone can say the same in the"(so-called) "saviours of pop department", eh, Messrs Neil Hannon and Damon Gough?) Coming out of nowhere, Fariña have just made an exceptional album, you should know, the type of album that we've been waiting five years for, without even knowing it. After the Kings of Convenience album, the year has got off to a good start for old retrograde pop fans like me. (Guillaume Sautereau)

Magic, Feb 2001
As the title of the record indicates with definite relevance, Fariña are a trio. An almost unknown trio who it has taken five years to put the final touches to their first album. No need to look for any Kevin Shields syndrome in this difficult birth, but rather heavy demands on their time which prevent these amateur musicians from devoting as much time as they would like to their passion.

Which is all the more regrettable on listening to these twelve classic pop numbers, made with whatever resources they could lay their hands on, arranged with bits of string, trumpet, melodica, discreet percussion, old-style keyboards; and sung with a quavering voice. Fariña thus offer an unpretentious record full of ideas and touching songs, autumnal ballads: Two People and its shaky false Go-Betweens airs, Confession TV in the role of a Divine Comedy finally embarrassed by their exhausting grandiloquence; or melodies with a disarming insouciance: Liberty which ought to have a statue put up to it, If She Should Blame Him, a composition as inspiring as anything by Michael Head.

Certainly, I’d be willing to bet that Three People will never be the talk of the town and that Fariña will continue, anyway they can, to record their well-crafted songs, whilst others strut about every time they put something out. Unless there’s a miracle, a stroke of luck, there’ll be no feeding of the five thousand here. Sincerely, we’re crossing our fingers. french original

The Guardian, 16 February 2001
Farina Three People (Pickled Egg Records) **** £11.99
At last: a band who make frail, sad songs that capture the imagination rather than sending you to sleep. It's not often the word "epiphany" features in a pop chorus, after all. These are melodic and textured hymns of memories and regrets, with lashings of trumpet, atmospheric keyboards and the odd thwack of a ruler mixed in. Farina wallow in complete loveliness, from the anxiously voiced excitement of meeting an old love in the accordion-driven fairground fantasy Animals in the Zoo, to the wry humour and jangling guitars of Confession TV. This is an updated Village Green Preservation Society, with its sense of nostalgia close and comforting, the sound of a steam train leaving the station a nice analogy for the gentle sense of displacement throughout. As Mark Brend sings "I've sold my remorse, I haven't repurchased it yet" on If She Should Blame Him, before ending with a shoulder-shrugging spot of whistling, you realise how graceful and special Farina are. (Betty Clarke)

Bleedrock.Com, January 2001
Farina Three People (Pickled Egg Records) **** £11.99
Little did Mark Brend know when he bought a second-hand David Ackles LP (because it was on Elektra and from the right era) how much it would mould the future sound of Farina. Or should that be the retro sound of Farina? Based on the rock-solid triangular foundations of Ackles, Morricone and Brecht, (singer-songwriter, thousand-yard stare, theatrical bent) they can hardly be said to be at the cutting edge of whatever fatuous genre the NME invented last week, but the magical warp and weft of their unusual but majestic tunes makes the new album ("Three People", on Pickled Egg) a stone-cold future classic. (Jimmy Possession)


Confession TV Single (Bad Jazz)

Record Collector, 1st Jan 2001
Another melancholic masterpiece from Bad Jazz Records. Farina are a musical three-piece of experience and ability. Their influences range from orchestral and classical to melodic pop, all of which are prevalent in this experimental single. "Confession TV" is grandiose and humorous, and with a distinct US indie tone, whilst remaining quintessentially British. The b-side, "Nothing Lasts", is a beautiful instrumental with baroque sounds and synthesizers complementing each other with toe-tapping grace. (Jake Kennedy/James Masterson)

POPnews, November 2000
Sous une pochette pingouinesque (en guise de clin d'oeil aux Field Mice ??), deux titres de plus à porter au crédit de Fariña, et, pour ce qui est de la face A, "Confession TV", de nouveau un sans faute. Et s'ils cherchent peut-être un peu trop ostensiblement la recette de la bombe pop sur ce morceau, à l'écoute de ce refrain soigneusement bidouillé avec les armes de la pop moderne, on leur pardonne aisément. Toujours futurs grands, mais plus pour longtemps, je l'espère. (Guillaume Sautereau)

NME, 17 October 2000
And finally Farina, hailing from London but with a by-no-means unwelcome resemblance to legendary New Zealand pop enigmas The Chills thanks to this nervy excerpt of keyboard-driven fuzz nirvana. They do at least pay lip service to their patrons by featuring a trumpet - played by the presumably ambidextrous drummer. (Keith Cameron)

Les Inrockuptibles, 17 October 2000
Née à Londres, la pop baroque de Fariña méprise ses compatriotes : le raffiné 'Confession TV' ne connaît de maîtres qu'en Australie (Moles, Go-Betweens) ou en Amérique (Flaming Lips, Cardinal). Snob mais juste. (Jean-Daniel Beauvallet)


Two People EP (Pickled Egg)

POPnews, June 2000
Le trio revendiquant l'influence conjuguée de David Ackles, Talk Talk et Ennio Morricone, on jette forcément une oreille, intéressés : bien nous en prend. Une longue intro où piano et trompette serpentent savamment, puis la trompette part en goguette, tour à tour mutine et caressante, le piano donne du corps à l'ensemble et une voix grave et touchante apparaît, le final s'emballe, bref, on voit qu'ils ont un peu cogité avant d'enregistrer une pop song superbe de plus. C'est "Two People", chanson contre laquelle on échangerait tout de suite notre intégrale de Belle & Sebastian. Non, je blague. Mais si peu. Et il suffit des deux titres de la face B pour s'en persuader définitivement, ces garçons sont doués, leur musique sans grumeau. (Guillaume Sautereau)

Record Mart & Buyer, April 2000
Farina are a London based three piece, who delight in getting some of the most unusual sounds and melodies from traditional instrumentation. The lead track 'Two People' is nice enough, but it's on the flip-side where you'll find the melodramatic whisperings of a sub BabyBird. 'If she could blame him' ably demonstrates why whistling on songs should be more common nay compulsory. 'Displace' on the other hand can despatch a grown man to a weeping heap at ten paces, and I should know. Pass that kerchief quickly. (Mark Barton)

Robots & Electronic Brains, April 2000
"Two people" opens like a Tom Waits track with a ripple of piano and a lazy muted trumpet ready to crash into a bluegrass/honky tonk growlfest but Farina casually shrug and turn away, introducing instead a lazy trumpet line that swoons into an understated melody from the as-yet-unwritten West End musical about Hovis. The, initially at least, disarmingly Baby Bird-ish, vocals also underplay their role, threatening to step up a gear a couple of times before a sad fanfare introduces the bouncier second half. Once there, the trumpet cuts loose and an almost music hall feel impinges on the doleful mood, a kind of knees-down courtesy of the piano before degeneration into free jazz parping. A bit of a trip, then, but tempered by "If She Should Blame Him" on the other side. Here, simplicity is the order of the day. A tardy organ furnishes funereal chordage over which a song of regret is sighfully delivered. "Displace" continues the almost religious feel with a fragile choral chant that comes close to the kind of feeling David Crosby put into "I'd Swear There Was Somebody Here." It's easy to turn into an adjective monster on these occasions, so I'll stick to just a couple: unusual and moving.

Record Collector, 1st April 2000
Classic songwriting threesome who use minimal instrumentation to furnish their traditional songs. A lo-fi vibe, with echoes of desolate songsmiths such as Jack/Jacques and even slight echoes of Palace. Apparently they've been working on their debut album for 4 years, which isn't surprising given the precision obviously vested in this effort. (Simon Ward/Jake Kennedy)

NME, 18 March 2000
Named after its projected audience, Farina's debut EP is exactly what you would expect from two men who have been working on their debut album for four years, nurture a crush on Tim Hardin and The Go-Betweens, and don't have a studio so much as a "second-hand laboratory of sound". There are probably undiscovered Amazonian tribes making music that's more commercial than this, but naturally, that's part of their charm. Tindersticks left in a damp corner, Animals That Swim in a concrete overcoat, Farina make music that features lines like, "On the x-ray of her ribcage/They found an icebox with a combination lock" without flinching. Only 'If She Should Blame Him' - which, of course, she always should - pushes the pity-us-we-fail-at-relationships thing too far and makes you wish you could set Kelis on them. Otherwise, pretty as a picture of, hmm, a bittersweet moment of transient happiness. (Victoria Segal)


Twilight Of The Empire - Head In The Clouds compilation - (Dreamy)

Q magazine, Sept 99
A 20-track sampler of the tiny British singles label, aimed at attracting finance to make albums. From the deliciously outré pop of Arco (20,000 Ft) to Farina's sublimely melancholic lament to former glories (Twilight Of The Empire), this is almost universally great stuff. Other highlights include Izumi Misawa's kitsch keyboard-fest Meet Me At The Brilliant Eclipse and Jacques Featuring Kirk Lake's whimsical You Don't Get It Now But You Will. Someone give Dreamy money now, please. **** (Dave Sheppard)

Music 365, July 99
...shining lights such as Farina's 'Twilight Of The Empire' with its lazy, locked groove, fighting spirit and trumpet,...
**** (Ngaire)