MISS C Clegg was spot on, as long ago as 1984.

In her end-of-term school report for Music, she observed that Colin MacIntyre "can get good results, but spends too much time showing off to fulfil any potential he may have". Colin, now 30, grew up to be the Mull Historical Society, the one-man orchestra with Beach Boys aspirations but a closer affinity to fellow power-popstar Ben Folds. For amusement, MacIntyre reprints Miss Clegg's curt comment on his CD sleeve, on the same insert that says his 58-minute second album contains another four songs playable on the CD ROM format - to go with the extra, unnamed 15th track at the end of this widescreen epic. His tendency to piano-and-string embellishment and over-production could be deemed eccentric (in a post-Pet Sounds Brian Wilson way) but is self indulgent too, and lack of quality control renders his jauntily melodic, multi-layered pocket symphonies too similar over prolonged exposure. Where this one-time stockbroker excels is in his whimsical lyrics: the heart to go with the ornate art. After addressing his father's death on his 2001 lo-fi debut, Loss, now his observant story-board songs reflect on madness, love, an MP's depression (Minster For Genetics & Insurance MP), and supermarket power games (The Supermarket Fights Back). His gift is to put so much colour in grey Britain from his Scottish outpost but his brush strokes are erratic. Sometimes astounding, always ambitious, often intriguing, MacIntyre still needs a quiet word from Miss Clegg.

He concludes Us with the sound of bleating sheep. It would be equally apt on the third album from pop iconoclasts Black Box Recorder, another dyspeptic social critique from the Auteurs' Luke Haines, former Jesus and Mary Chain drummer John Moore and the vixen of sang froid, immaculately crisp vocalist Sarah Nixey. Sweet tunes coat sour, witheringly witty, subversive thoughts on magnolia England and its Saturday shopping sheep. The collapse of Nude Records held Passionoia back for two years but this economical, topical synth-pop is perfectly timed with Pulp on sabbatical and the Pet Shop Boys past their best. Sadistic and addictive, lean and mean, Black Box Recorder say everything about mundane modernity in 40 grumpy, jingle-tuned minutes.

Updated: 09:47 Thursday, March 06, 2003