IT'S two years since unassuming Glaswegians Travis found themselves peering bemusedly down from the top of the world, having almost by accident become one of the UK's most successful bands.

The melancholy singalongs of breakthrough albums The Man Who and The Invisible Band, and amiable singer-songwriter Fran Healy's naive charm, struck a chord across generations. However easy a target Travis's undemanding, safe-as-houses strumalongs were to criticise, nice guys, it seems, did finish first sometimes.

But even a band this infamously nice have to pay back the Devil for their success sometime, and things soon went pear-shaped, with drummer Neil Primrose suffering a spinal injury that almost spelt the end of the tight-knit band.

After that enforced lay-off, 12 Memories is a fragile, introspective comeback, with a troubled, less audience-friendly mood. It sounds like an album the band needed to make for themselves, regardless of commercial expectations. Not that it's a drastic musical departure - this is Travis after all.

But either they're sick of the smell of lighter fluid from all those lighter-waving crowds, or they like the sound of record company executives shooting themselves, because the anthemic, crowd-pleasing tunes of old are out of the window.

Out too is Nigel Godrich's megabucks production gloss, in favour of a self-produced, low-key approach. 12 Memories is more consistent, honest and subtle than The Invisible Band, but it lacks strong songs.

Be warned, nothing on this difficult fourth album leaps out to woo the casual listener (ironically, the catchiest song is the radio-unfriendly Peace The F**k Out).

You suspect this may be where Travis and a fair few fickle fans part company.

Updated: 08:50 Thursday, October 16, 2003