This came out in 2000 — or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
The title is borrowed from Oliver Sacks’ schizophrenia study The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat — a nod to this Brit quintet’s split-personality sound, which is equal parts emotional pop and cerebral art-rock.
Both sides are still in evidence on this fascinating sophomore album, but this time, they’ve merged into one cogent mindset — albeit a depressed one. The Man Who’s 10 lush tracks have the dreamy jangle and downbeat piano melancholy of Rufus Wainwright or Ben Folds, but with only flashes of their compensatory ironic wit. Instead, they lighten the load with the occasional glam-noir guitar lick or bit of sophisticated, Radiohead-style post-pop production. It’s all quite exquisite, really, but not buoyant enough to balance dreary lyrics like “It really is the end of the line / So sorry that you turned into driftwood,” delivered in singer Fran Healey’s deadpan half-falsetto. And that’s one of the singles! Now that they have their personality under control, Travis might want to consider a mood elevator.
