The Lottery Winners - The Lottery Winners

There’s no doubt about it, things are pretty rubbish right at the moment. The partisan nature of politics is bad enough, but recently parts of the UK have been battered by floods, and now we have a pandemic to deal with. Floods and plague so far in 2020, and the clocks haven’t even gone forward yet.

Even worse for us music fans, the industry is taking consecutive body blows. South By Southwest was the first event to cancel, then Record Store Day followed, postponing until June. Gigs are being cancelled left, right and centre, and if things carry on as they are there could be no festivals this summer at all. We’re already at the point where the Stereophonics are being berated for allowing their gig last weekend to go ahead.

And yet, paradoxically but as it always does, music will save. The Lottery Winners, a four-piece from Leigh, Lancashire are believers and opt for the fun approach. Bonding over a love of The Smiths, they cut their teeth performing in pubs and working men’s clubs, covering tracks by Oasis, The Verve and Radiohead before eventually finding their own sound which has eventually lead to the release of this, their self-titled debut.

In truth, you’d be hard pressed to find a lineage from the bands mentioned above to here, aside from some very generic Britpop echoes. The album is generally more in line with the American pop-punk bands of the early part of the century, albeit not entirely. ‘21’ is held together by Madchester guitars (and, in fairness, a Jagwar Ma vibe), and ‘That’s Not Entertainment’ contains some modern-day wry observations (‘I don’t want to come to your love island and I don’t want to come dine with you’), while ‘I Don’t Love You’ sounds like contemporary Mock Turtles. Not necessarily a bad thing. Elsewhere, ‘Headlock’ has a gnarly Muse riff.

Other than that, it’s pop rock all the way. ‘The Meaning Of Life’ struts with the sound of a mob as backing vocals and ‘Little Things’ is joyfully uplifting, held up by a strong rhythm. ‘18-30s’ is an unashamed youth anthem (‘They never taught us how to live at school’), and ‘My Only Friend’ is one of those heart-on-sleeve, earnest rock tracks that bands like Blink 182 excel at.

It’s all good fun, but there’s not a huge amount of variation; singer Thom Rylance seems to have only one key (not quite screechy), and seems to be primarily concerned with carnal matters which are a little dated. Also, as good as the rhythm section is, on guitar it’s power chords and not much more.

But, and this is key, they don’t take themselves too seriously. Something which, in these troubled times, can be enough.