No More Stories Are Told Today I'm Sorry They Washed Away No More Stories the World Is Grey I'm Tired Let's Wash Away

Mew has succeeded in developing a good sound from some of the least hip ingredients imaginable, and No More Stories... feels like a consolidation of every stride they've made to date.

Despite its ominous (and lofty) title, No More Stories/Are Told Today/I'm Sorry/They Washed Away/No More Stories/The World Is Grey/I'm Tired/Let's Wash Away is a dreamy blend of circular melodies and odd time signatures that requires multiple listens (this is par for the course with any Mew album) and a significant amount of cinematic stamina from the listener, and though it may not appeal to the masses, its mass is definitely appealing.

Always inventive, often beautiful and occasionally totally sublime, Mew have always stood out from the pack, and this latest--with producer Rich Costey back on board--sees them raise the bar that extra inch higher.

Simply put, No More Stories… is accessible without being overbearingly so, experimental without sounding too abstract and ridiculous, and most importantly, one of the year's most endearing records.

Like Muse, Mew fly in the face of the zeitgeist, cultivating a devoted following all the while. It’s one that should be sated (and in an ideal world, expanded) no end by No More Stories.

Forward, it’s enticing--but in reverse, it’s sublime.

No More Stories is the most intricate batch of songs they've produced but pratical enough for daily listening. [Summer 2009, p.61]

But where the band’s U.S. breakthrough, "And the Glass Handed Kites," sometimes felt sprawling, its follow-up achieves some much-needed clarity, distinguishing one song from the next and reining in the reverb with throbbing bass hits.

Despite a few drawbacks, NAITNTIL is a triumph. It signals a more mature Mew, with more to say and more ways to say it.

No More Stories... glitters with ethereal beauty and optimism that has been absent on Mew's prior releases. [Fall 2009, p.91]

It's hard to know where you stand with it. There are moments where the listener is engulfed in it all, but others when it feels cold and detached.

It bears to be dissected because it is pretty much all over the place, even if what they wanted to achieve could be stored inside a magical pot of gold.

No More Stories… finishes Mew’s transition into the swirling, arena-rock monsters they’ve threatened to become all along, with reliably decent results, but it fails to top the blissful heights of "Glass Handed Kits" or the pop-theory class of "Frengers."

No More Stories becomes absorbing in its delight at the rehashed spectrum in which it operates. Mew is not as thoughtful or smart as they think they are, but the force of their conviction is inspiring.

What Mew have come up with here is a gently twinkling Mercury Rev-ish album of experimental percussive nonsense and occassional jazz-like noodling that somehow manage to hypnotise even while they irritate. [Oct 2009, p.114]