Top 100 Albums - #26: Once More With Feeling (2004)

Once More With Feeling is the only entry for alternative rockers Placebo. It is a singles compilation summarising the first eight years of their career.
Placebo were founded in 1994 by Brian Molko (vocals, guitar) and Stefan Olsdal (bass), who had both been educated at the American International School in Luxembourg before meeting up again in South Kensington, London. But while the band soon settled on the name Placebo, they were no so assured with drummers, alternating between two before permanently hiring Steve Hewitt in 1996. The band released its self-titled debut that year and became notorious for its overt sexuality, androgynous image (especially Molko) and drug addiction. While their debut sold well in Britain, critics were less kind about Without You, I'm Nothing (1998), seeing Molko as pretentious. The follow-up, Black Market Music (2000), took nine months to record and consolidated their continental fanbase, hitting the top of the French album charts. Their fourth album, Sleeping With Ghosts (2003), marked a departure, with dancier themes replacing the heavier, American rock sound of old, and returned them to some form of success in Britain.

Like many compilations, we begin at the beginning with '36 Degrees'. Taken from Placebo, it's a good way to introduce us to the sound of the band, and along the way we get the odd lyrical gem, e.g. Allocate your sentiment and stick it in a box from the first verse. Compared to some of the later, darker stuff, this is a bit flat, but at 3:08 it's punchy and (passive-)aggressive enough to pass muster.

'Teenage Boy' has much the same sort of approach. It's very short, it's feisty and it packs a nicely rounded punch. It begins with a simple but effective riff from Molko, who then picks up the ball on the lyrics. Generally they are a little too forgettable to be classic Placebo, but the refrain - Since I was born I started to decay/ Now nothing ever ever goes my way - is very good. It is a very effective piece, with special plaudits for Hewitt's sharp, economical drumming.

On the next two tracks, however, the band start to lose their way. 'Nancy Boy' has none of the imagery or subtlely that the previous two songs had, and as a result it never really comes good. From a lyrical point of view, the subject matter is very clear (Molko's sexual encounters with multiple partners). But soon it falls apart as the band serve up the kind of inane chorus which no average pop song is complete without. This is not what we want, and neither is 'Bruise Pristine'. The riff which kicks things off is empty, the hi-hat a well-worn feature of metal and everything else is plain forgetable. It's not a bad track per se, there is nothing outrageously horrible about it, but neither is there all that much to excite you, making it a big disappointment.

We now move on to the tracks from Without You, I'm Nothing, which is where Placebo start to come good. The lyrics of 'Pure Morning' are among Molko's best: clever, caustic, and brutally honest. From the opening lines - A friend in need's a friend in deed/ A friend with weed is better - you are aware of how much the band have developed and matured in the space of two years. This is musically tighter too, with little room left for showing off on either drums or guitar. The bass is more distinctive, and the whole mood is darker, blacker and resoundingly better.

'You Don't Care About Us' begins with some drumming from Hewitt of which Dave Grohl would have been proud. Oldsal has more room in this track, and the production allows his Gibson Thunderbird to burrow and burn its way deep into your consciousness. This delicate thunder provides an interesting contrast to Molko's yearning, alto-ish vocals, so that the song feels balanced and potent. Good stuff.

With 'Every You, Every Me', things take a turn for the worse. For a start, the sound that Placebo had so carefully built up is completely rent in twain by the acoustic guitar, which plays the kind of empty, inane riff that you would today encounter on a Ting Tings track (think 'Great DJ'). Molko's delivery sounds even more relaxed than usual, to the extent the feeble lyrics become beyond irony and you are quickly driven beyond all realm of patience.

It's a damn good thing, then, that the band follows this up with the title track of their second album. 'Without You, I'm Nothing' features David Bowie on vocals, then in the tail end of his techno phase and fresh from the tour of Earthling (1997). His influence shows; even though he had no part in writing the song, it sounds more professional, more cultured, more all-rounded somehow. His increasingly knarled voice blends superbly with Molko's, again providing a contrast between the high and low registers. And when the songs reaches its climax in the final choruses, it sends a dark shiver down your spine, just the effect Placebo should have on you.

'Taste In Men' is the first track from Black Market Music, and begins with a heady mix of bass and synthesisers underscored with full-sounding drums. The synths are particularly hypnotic, pulsing through your temples like the muffled beats eminating from an underground club. Molko's voice here is more snarly, more embittered, and as a result more exciting; if nothing else, it disguises the repetitive lyrics. Think of it as Massive Attack with an early-teen Johnny Rotten on vocals.

Up to now this is all been a little uneven, but with 'Slave To The Wage' we shift things up a gear or two. This feels so more much professional than the previous tracks. The raw edge displayed in the choppy production may have been dulled, but all the despair and anger remain in full voice, backed by some wonderfully simple guitar work. The drums are thundery, like on an early Rolling Stones record; the bass is loose and jazzy; and Molko is jagged and snarling into the mike like a killer hornet. This isn't exactly the happiest song in the world, but that is not what Placebo are about. They are about creating deep, honest, scarring pieces of music which arouse emotion - and this brilliant track fulfills all these criteria.

'Special K' is one of the more controversial songs included on here. Not controversial because of its selection - it's one of their more successful singles. The controversy lies in its subject matter - namely the use of drugs and in particular ketamine. But of course, Molko is clever in working around the subject, slipping in cultural and religious references along the way - Can the saviour be for real/ Or are you just my seventh seal? Backed by a punk metal rhythm section, he wades through the song so you become sure he is singing about himself.

'Black Eyed' is another good song, simple as. It doesn't have the effortless quality of 'Slave To The Wage' but it's hardly a let-down because of that. The subject matter is well-worn (a boy with a troubled childhood), but that doesn't stop Placebo from trying to find something new about it. And they manage to get away with it, thanks to the lightning-quick snare work of Hewitt. Olsdal's bass work is simpler and more conventional than usual, but to honest you won't care - largely because the only one you're focussing on is Molko.

We now come to the really good stuff, namely the tracks from Sleeping With Ghosts. 'The Bitter End', like all the songs off that album, is about relationships. With a more personal subject matter, the band feels more edgy and aggressive. The songs on here are shorter, punchier and heaps better in quality. The drums are simple and yet clever, as Hewitt combines a simple hi-hat and snare beat with an adrenaline-injected bass drum part. Molko is vocally in full flung form, catapulting you to a dark alley in a dying city. From the very way he sneers at the chorus, you can see the hatred and despair on his face. This is an electric song, a great track from an in-form band.

'This Picture' kicks off with a positively evil bass line, and brings to mind, for some unknown reason, The Portrait of Dorian Gray. This is not as compelling as the previous track, but there is still plenty to like here. It's quite similar to '36 Degrees' in its structure and form, but the addition of synthesisers under the melody help to distinguish it. The lyrics talk about sadomasochism, but unlike a lot of Molko's lyrics it is difficult to pick up on anything for a few listens, save a few references to ashtray girls and growing old.

It is on the next two tracks, however, that the band reach their peak. 'Special Needs' begins with a tender but sinister riff and then it is Molko all the way. He sings like a psychopath, and his lyrics are demented in their feel, serving up a series of gruesome verses, and a simple, drilling chorus:

Just 19, a sucker's dream
I guess I thought you had the flavour
Just 19, and dream obscene
With 6 months off for bad behaviour

The best lyrics are those that instantly put pictures in your head, and here you imagine him stuck in a cell, with only the rain and lightning for company. The band play tightly and rigidly, but there is still a lot of passion in what they do. With 'English Summer Rain', things go the other way. All restraint is gone, all the gloves are off and everything is pumped full of energy to a frightening degree. Once again the lyrics are deceptively simple; they could be almost be called lazy if done by any other band. But with Placebo, they serve as a prism to focus all the darkness into something we can understand. And we get the message, as Molko bears his soul amid the claustrophobic, nightmarish soundscape the other members create. It's an amazing track, so innately simple and yet so full of meaning.

Sadly, the next two tracks fall short of the new bar just installed. 'Protège-Moi' is the French version of 'Protect Me From What I Want'. The English version is a good enough song, which leads you to question why they included this instead. Most people will find the French lyrics off-putting, not having the time or energy to decipher them. That is a big error, since the success of Molko's lyrics has always lain on being easy to understand while being all beautiful and metaphorical at the same time. This doesn't do that. 'I Do', meanwhile, has little better in its favour. The opening riff is sub-standard, Molko is singing in self-parody mode, and the whole thing feels stale. It's a good thing that this is the shortest track (at 2:28), because by the time you get to the second verse you'll really be annoyed.

On 'Twenty Years', the closer, Molko's guitar playing has picked up, adding a lilting, blues feel into the abyss and taking things on an interesting journey. This is a definite departure for the band, back-referencing their career thus far while poking fun at the idea of them going on for as long as the title suggests: But all will pass/ We'll end too fast, you know. The production is a lot clearer here than it has been elsewhere on this compilation, and you end up listening to it with a satisfied half-smile, reassured that this band will go on to greater things.

When it comes down to it, Once More With Feeling is not all that distinctive as a compilation. It follows the herd in the way it is laid out in chronological order, it contains only the band's most well-known work, and it includes a new track as a teaser to satisfy fans. So, on the surface, it is too humdrum to deserve a place on the chart. But if you focus on the music itself, its purpose eventually becomes clear. All Placebo's albums, including Sleeping With Ghosts to an extent, are decidely uneven in quality and feel. They are at heart a singles band, and there is a reason why these particular songs were chosen. These songs are indicative of Placebo at each stage of their career, showcasing how they have improved and altered their sound throughout their first eight year. It's not so much a compilation as a narrow history lesson, which leaves you thinking that if there are twenty years to go, they're bound to produce something special along the way.

3.95 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #37: Funeral (2004)

Arcade Fire's first of two entries comes in the shape of their debut album, Funeral.
The origin of Arcade Fire can be traced back to 1995, when 15-year-old Win Butler formed a band with classmates Josh Deu and Tim Kile while at the Phillips Exeter Academy, New Hampshire. Butler went on to study creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College, New York, and later moved to McGill University, Montreal. It was here that he met Régine Chassagne, a Canadian with Haitian roots, and they were married in 2003. Around 2003 the band's line-up solidified around Butler (guitar, vocals), his brother William (synthesiser, bass) and Chassagne (piano, xylophone). They were joined by Richard Reed Barry (double bass, guitar), Tim Kingsbury (guitar, bass), Sarah Neufeld (violin) and Howard Bilerman (drums). The band released a self-titled EP in mid-2003, originally only sold at gigs but since remastered and re-released. Taking their name from a fire in the Exeter arcade, the band spent the remainder of 2003 and early 2004 recording their debut album for Merge Records.

This critically-acclaimed album kicks off with the first of four 'Neighbourhood' tracks. 'Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels)' kicks off with some tragically struck piano and mournful guitars. Butler's voice may come across as weak and unintelligible to those unfamiliar either with the band or with the genre of alternative rock, but bear with it, because in the higher registers it begins to come into its own. The guitars become more savage as the song wears on, counterpointed by the twinkling keyboards and the smash of the half-open hi-hat. It's a good start, subtly imposing it self upon your consciousness.

'Neighbourhood #2 (Laïka)' begins with one of the most memorable drum beats of recent years. The floor tom and snare pattern ricochets through the mix as the accordion intervenes. This is the first time we see both Butler and Chassagne on vocals, and the first impression is that it works, a good balance of Butler's strained yearning and Chassagne's laid-back reediness. The lyrics are not immediately clear, but eventually you come to realise their significance in what is essentially an allegory of the Russian space mission of 1957 which put Laika into space.

'Une Année Sans Lumière' literally translates as 'a year without light', and there's plenty of French to go around in this track. It's more down-tempo and guitar-oriented than the previous track, like a hybrid between indie (in its drums) and folk rock (guitar) - except in the final third where it suddenly turns a bit rockabilly. Butler's voice is weaker here, a fact that could either be taken as him being more vulnerable or being lazy. The jury is out.

The verdict on 'Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out)' is clear, though. This is an articulate and immaculately executed song, which shows off the eclecticism and versatility of the whole seven-piece. Chassagne oscillates between kooky xylophones and stern keyboards while Butler thunders on and the violins and guitar create the creaking, agèd texture which suits the song to a tee. Then the jagged guitar riff kicks in at 2:16 and the classic becomes complete. The brooding atmosphere fits the subject matter(s); the most obvious meaning that can be attached can be the growing apathy among humanity in the face of duplicitous leaders: the power's out in the heart of man/ Take it from your heart, put it in your hand is a worthy and timely message for the iPod generation.

It is such a shame, then, that the final 'Neighbourhood' track is such a big let-down. 'Neighbourhood #4 (7 Kettles)' not only has the strangest title of all four such tracks, but it comes across as almost embarrassed of itself. Unlike #3, which rose to the occasion and filled the mix, this shies away with the screeching violins and even screechier acoustic guitar. The sound of a squeaky chord change is one of the most irritating and commonplace sounds in alternative rock. This comes across as an almost unashamed parody of Radiohead, circa The Bends (1995), and like most of Radiohead the lyrics take way too long to come out of their shell, even if they do emerge as quite good in the end.

Things get back on track with 'Crown Of Love', largely because the dark, foreboding textures have returned. The violins have been put back in tune to add to the mourning - as befits the album title - and the piano is deep, grand and sonorous. Butler is back on form as well, producing a great chorus:

If you still want me, please forgive me
The crown of love has fallen from me
If you still want me, please forgive me
Because the spark is not within me

Add in a perfectly executed tempo change in the last minute of the song and you begin to fall back in love with this band. Sadly, it is a love that they spurn so readily with their next two songs. While 'Wake Up' may thematically be a cornerstone of the album, as a song in its own right it comes across as rather impotent, filled with enough oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-ohs to serve as a bed on a dozen radio shows. It is has also, like so much recent indie, been mercilessly overplayed, and there is a fine line between a song being instantly recognisable and a song being boring. Finally, the music hall piano at the end really winds you up. 'Haiti' suffers from a different set of problems. The drums, especially the snare, is straight out of the 1980s, with its dodgy echoed production and oh-too-crisp sound. The keyboards are too weird to do justice to this subject matter (the dictatorship of Jean-Claude Devalier, a.k.a. Bébé Doc). And while Chassagne's vocals come across as great when read on paper, they are drowned out in the studio. What a shame.

Do not despair, though, because we now come to the best track on the album. This was the track, during their performance on Later... with Jools Holland,¹ that kick-started their career in Britain, and it's not hard to see why. If 'Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out)' blasts through into your skull with its jagged guitars, 'Rebellion (Lies)' creeps very slowly up your spine until the sadness, fear and helplessness take control. The lingering keyboards act as a pulse over which Bilerman can open the taps a little bit. Butler's lyrics, about goverment propaganda are superb once again; the structure is so strict and formal, and yet not one of the lines comes across as compromised by rhyme or rhythm. The opening lines - Sleeping is giving in/ No matter what the time is - are among the best written this side of the millennium, and even the more trivial lines like Come and hide your lovers/ Underneath the covers scans as powerful poetry. There is no fault to this song whatsoever, it is an unassailable masterpiece.

The album winds slowly down with 'In The Backseat', again sung by Chassagne. And while it cannot hold a candle to its predecessor, it feels good. This time, the lyrics are given the space to breath, so you can (for the most part) get the message. It feels tight, poised and delicate, and even at the very top of her range there is not a hint of straining from Chassagne. Occasionally, the drums get too much and the mix gets too heavy, but otherwise it serves as a fitting finale.

Funeral's greatest irony is that it gave Arcade Fire the life and success they need when its themes and recordings are marred by death. The fear of government, the war on terror and the death of self-hope and confidence are perfectly encapsulated in these ten songs; and death within the families of so many of the band members adds further to the atmosphere of mourning. It is this unique combination of the personal and the political which makes this album such a rare joy. Most overtly political albums can seem very abstract, distant, and with little humanity in them which the listener can grab hold of. Likewise, many of the personal records in rock and elsewhere are so individual and introspective that they become absolutely impenetrable and no greater issues can be drawn from them. What Arcade Fire have done with Funeral is put the two poles together almost by accident, and created one of the finest pieces of musical social comment that we are ever likely to see.

3.90 out of 5

References
¹ http://youtube.com/watch?v=42g4T_tZPTA. Accessed on June 4 2008.

Top 100 Albums - #52: Devoted (2004)

Christian singer Liz Fitzgibbon makes a surprise appearance on the chart with Devoted, her most recent effort.Liz Fitzgibbon was born and raised in County Cork, Ireland. Through her early years she became an in-demand soloist, and began writing songs in 1997. She first came to the attention of the Christian music industry through her involvement in worship at her local church. Her synthesis of traditional Celtic motifs with modern worship attracted the powers that be at Kingsway Music, as did her sweet, pure voice. She got her big break appearing on The New Celts Volume 2 (2002). This recording helped to lay the groundwork for both the resulting albums and her work across the UK and USA, joining the likes of Iona at the forefront of contemporary Celtic Christian music.

Devoted opens with 'You Are My Strong Tower', the only track on here from The New Celts Volume 2. And it's a good choice to begin with. The beautiful piano and flute parts provide the ideal opening into which Fitzgibbon's voice fits so serenely. Her voice is purer than Iona's Joanne Hogg without losing any of its character or power. And it's better than Enya because it's authentic; you don't get the impression that every note has been tweaked and passed through a synthesiser, and you become confident that the sound will be as good live as it is on here. The production itself is tight, the lyrics are masterful and the whole product is a work of art, an ethereal start to the album.

Few artists in any genre can follow genius with genius, but that is precisely what Fitzgibbon does on 'Show Mercy'. This is slightly more conventional, insofar as it could be conceivably used as a worship song. But although it has a simple refrain and even simpler lyrics, it loses none of the power instilled by the previous track. The flute is again out in glory, and the drums are a very nice touch - like Franz van Essen in Iona, they are dynamic without being imposing. It's a glorious song, the perfect showcase for Fitzgibbon's range and her natural grace with words, as the lines tumble out of her lips like bells chiming.

On the basis of the last two tracks, 'I Need You More' might come across as a letdown. But it's not. It's a track which manages to strike a good balance between emotional tenderness and strength. It's set out in the same verse-chorus pattern of 'Show Mercy', and the lyrics are just as overtly spiritual. But the delivery of such lyrics works because it is not being done by or like a random guy with a badly tuned guitar. Equally good is 'Wash Me Clean Lord Jesus'. This is acoustic-based and bereft of drums or anything else which benefitted the last track. There is an attractive violin part put in on the quiet (and it is quiet), but once again the vocals are put at the centre, and the end result is brilliant.

'Come Down O Holy One' not only continues this trend of brilliance, but it extrapolates it. This track is closer to Iona in terms of the background music - the long, yearning strings and keyboards. And yet Fitzgibbon's voice shines through resolutely, beaming through the mix like a laser in a blizzard. Her voice is so pure and so unobtrusive that it's very hard to hate this performance, as with everything that has gone before.

The first real letdown on Devoted in 'Every Knee Shall Bow'. To describe this as 'obvious' is to do it something of a disservice, since it is a worship song and therefore is meant to be. The problem is more that the music is very flat - the drums especially - and as such there is nothing to cushion and support the vocals. It does sound like an award-winning singer, backed by a worship band which only rehearses every other month. It has a kind of Hillsongs feel to it which renders it just a bit... old hat. 'Won't You Come Lord Jesus' suffers from the same maladies. Although this is quite beautiful, especially the organ part, it just feels that bit too forced to work completely - at least set alongside its rivals.

The title track is a step back in the right direction, being as it is a return to so-called Celtic production devices. The lyrics are a little simpler this time round, but nothing is lost in the performance. The flutes here are deeper and subtler, allowing more room for the blossoming vocals. She sings about her relationship with God, and you don't have to think twice to understand the honesty which resounds from her performance.

The last third of the album proves to be a little shaky. 'What A Friend I've Found' is a rehash of a standard worship song. Delirious? covered this on King Of Fools (1997), and did a terrible job dressing it up in indie-style vocals and sub-standard guitar work. But this rendition is more freewheeling; Fitzgibbon is not boxed in or confined by the original lyrics, instead she improvises over and around them. This makes it more personal, making you satisfied that it is more than just a lazy cover of a worship song sung so many times before.

'How Long O Lord' meanwhile is below par, mostly because of its percussion section. It's way too loud for this kind of song and this kind of subject (being forsaken by God). Clearly the percussionist was getting carried away in recording, or the producer forgot to turn the volume down when putting the mix together and mastering the album. 'Sing To The Lord' is just as inferior, thought on this occassion it is because it feels too much like a rehashed worship song. It's got an acoustic guitar with regular chords, it sounds like it's being played with a rictus on its player's face, and - worst of all - it has some terrible harmonies which jar awfully.

It is a welcome relief, then, that we finish on 'Here Is Love'. Yes, it's another worship song; but yes, Fitzgibbon makes it her own. Doing the first verse in Gaelic is... sublime, even before you hear it confirmed in her voice. A beautiful song in its own right, it is lifted onto a different plane by these Celtic touches. It may be the longest track (at 5:40), but you certainly won't be bored. You might even be prompted to join in, even if reaching her registers is a physical impossibilty.

So many albums in Christian music suffer from a profound and perpetual cheesiness - their music, and their lyrics in particular, are so oblique and repetitive that they alienate all but the seasoned evangelical. Devoted, like so much of Celtic music, goes against the flow. It may be uneven in places - especially in the final third - but it's stunningly beautiful, and very well-produced. This is exactly how Christian music should be - honest, sophisticated, and not in the least sense cheesy. Not all of these songs are suited to church worship, but all are superbly well-constructed. True, compared to the likes of Iona, Devoted falls short from a musical perspective - compared to the works of Dave Bainbridge, the melodies here are quite flatlined. But Devoted still stands as one of the finest Christian records made in the last decade.

3.83 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #63: Then And Now: 1964-2004 (2004)

The Who's second appearance comes in the form of a compilation, released to mark the 40th anniversary of the band from the release of 'I Can't Explain'. It is also the source of the first new Who recordings for 22 years.
After Keith Moon's untimely death in 1978, The Who continued with the help of keyboardist John 'Rabbit' Bundrick and former Small Faces drummer Kenney Jones. The group released two more albums, the pop rock Face Dances (1981) and the cry for help It's Hard (1982), but it was clear that, on the live circuit especially, something had gone out of the band, perhaps permanently. After the release of the delapitated live album Who's Last (1984) to commemorate the 'farewell tour', the band called it quits. There were subsequent reunions - a half-arsed set for Live Aid in 1985, a 25th Anniversary tour in 1989, a revival of Quadrophenia in 1996 and concerts at the Royal Albert Hall in 1999 and 2000 - but none of them produced any new material. Following the death of John Entwistle in 2002 - on the eve of a sell-out US tour - surviving members Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey began to consider the possibilities of recording together again.

But before we can get to the new stuff, we have to sit back and review 18 of The Who's biggest hits and most memorable songs. We begin with 'I Can't Explain', their first single released as The Who under the management of Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp. It's a very punchy little number, which sees Townshend and Entwistle merging the guitar and bass parts together so that they are almost indiscernable. As a Mod song, this is a very good song, even if Townshend's knack for summing up his generation doesn't especially come through. It is also interesting to see Daltrey sing in his early, awkward style.

It is easy in the 21st century to write off 'My Generation' as, amongst other things, one of the most over-played tracks of the 1960s. But give it more than half a chance, and it's a treat. Entwistle's bass chords are simply brilliant, serving more than enough proof to his claim as the man who revolutionised bass guitar. The first hints of Moon's breakneck speed and mad fills are also present, and Daltrey's stutter is perfectly executed. Even if the message of the lyrics became an albatross around the band's necks - I hope I die before I get old and all that - at the time this was one of the most radical songs around.

Unfortunately, we also get the bad side of the 1960s in this early assortment of singles. The first slip-up of this compilation is 'The Kids Are Alright'. Taken from My Generation (1965), the use of harmonies is reminsicent of the surf music which Townshend hated (and Moon loved), and the sound of the piece means that, Moon aside, all that is distinctive of The Who is lost in the mix of a better-than-average 3-minute pop song. 'Substitute' is a great deal better, not least because it grows on you instead of coming across like so much throwaway pop of the days. Daltrey and Townshend vie for the vocals while managing to sustain a very nice melody. It's a much better effort lyrically as well from Townshend, just look at the second chorus:

(Substitute) Me for him
(Substitute) My coke for gin
(Substitute) You for my Mum
At least I'll get my washing done

'I'm A Boy', the first single from A Quick One (1966), is the first real hint of concept from Townshend. This song, about a mother with four girls and designating one of them as a boy, actually had its origins in a musical he had been writing called Quads; set in the year 2000, it takes place in an age where "you can order the sex of your children, and this women orders four girls and one of them turns out to be a boy, so she pretends it's a girl... horrifying!"¹ Primitive rock opera aside, this is another good song because of two things. One, lyrically it's a return to form for Townshend insofar as he is writing about society rather than fantasising. And two, musically, it's an insight into the chemistry of the band. Daltrey has an air of aggression and swagger about him as he bellows the lines over Keith's crash.

No sooner had he returned to form, though, than Townshend returns down Kooky Lane and creates havoc in the process. And this is not the kind of autodestructive havoic for which the Who became rightly renowned. 'Happy Jack' is another relic of the 1960s pop scene which makes little sense, a waste of the energies of Messrs. Moon and Entwistle. (For the trained ear amongst us, listen out for the cry of "I saw you!". This is Townshend shouting at Moon. After Keith insisted on singing on the tracks, he was locked out of the studio during the vocal take, but responded by pulling faces at Townshend throughout the successful takes).

'I Can See For Miles', the only number on here from The Who Sell Out (1967) is often called the peak of The Who's output.² Released as their initial onslaught on the States got underway and the Mod scene had well and truly disappeared, it is better-than-average at best. Daltrey's delivery is very off-putting, since this rather psychedelic, swirling number is more suited to Townshend's voice. Moon's fills drown out the bass in this mix and overall it's too forgettable to justify its reputation. 'Magic Bus' is below-par but for a different reason. This is the Who's attempt at late-1960s psychedelic folk - well, 'folk' as in acoustic guitars and the drum kit swapped for a couple of percussion instruments. Entwistle was never fond of this song, and he had a point. While the version on Live At Leeds (1970) benefitted from Townshend's echoey guitars and Daltrey's braggadachio³, here it's tinny, irritating and just plain stupid.

And so we enter into the classic era, leaving 60s pop behind us for good. The two offerings from Tommy (1969) are mixed. 'Pinball Wizard' is, of course, well-known, well-loved, and well-deserving of a place in any Who collection. Before Who Are You (1978), it features some of the best acoustic guitar Townshend every laid down. Daltrey has finally found that majestic voice which would put him right up there with great rival Robert Plant in the league of the best rock singers. Just by hearing it, you get the impression of the band going up a gear - the trapping of the singles market are wisely cast aside and replaced by the slight grandeur of early rock opera.

'See Me, Feel Me', on the other hand, is, not to put too fine a point on it, cheating a bit. This 'quiet section' of the opera - so called because Roger could finally hear himself sing on stage - belongs at the end of 'We're Not Gonna Take It' (although the phrase of music is a motif throughout the album). Though within the context of both the rest of the song and the album this works great - as does the version in the film from 1975 - here it feels stilted and out of place.

'Summertime Blues' is lifted from Live At Leeds and speaks pretty much for itself. It's the only non-Townshend song on the album - it was written by Blues legend Eddie Cochran - but like the rest of the concert it's raw power is unassailable. Here Entwistle returns to prominence on both bass and vocals. You can feel the energy coming off Daltrey as he drives through Townshend's power chord, while, in all this time, Moon is on another planet busy with his cymbals.

Out of all the songs on Who's Next (1971), 'Behind Blue Eyes' seems a strange choice when put alongside 'Baba O'Riley' or 'My Wife'. However, as one of Townshend's more tender numbers - in the era predating The Who By Numbers, at any rate - this is a very good effort. Daltrey proves his range, keeping the volume down and allowing room for Townshend on both vocals and acoustic, resisting the temptation to pounce and scream the lyrics. Cometh the hour, cometh the Moon; in the last third he showcases his talent with his witty improvisations over the lyrics with a bravado that John Bonham never matched.

And of course, there is room here for 'Won't Get Fooled Again'. Indeed, how could there not be? If something like 'I Can See For Miles' was typical of The Who during their mod and post-mod years, then this, aside from anything else, is the benchmark against which all their 1970s output must be measured. Everything that made The Who exciting, progressive, raucous and rivetting is here. Moon's drumming is both tight and flamboyant; you listen to his drums and imagine him with a smile on his face as he plays like a lunatic. Entwistle anchors the song while finding time to cram in notes in his fills where you never thought there was room. Townshend is flying high on the guitar, backed by the revolutionary synthesisers. And Daltrey - well, the scream says it all. Eight-and-a-half minutes of unbeatable genius.

Out of all The Who's subsequent output, Quadrophenia (1973) is the only album which has ever stood a chance of matching it. If the stuff included on here is anything to go by, it's pretty much true. '5:15' is a riot, full stop. Townshend starts the song off tenderly with his guitar and vocals, but from then on in, it's Moon, Moon, Moon. Here he is in his element, as backed by Entwistle's horns he swings around the kit hitting everything in range. Daltrey's vocal delivery is impeccable considering most of it is outside his natural range. The whole piece is absolutely splendid, and nothing more needs to be said.

'Love, Reign O'er Me' is equally majestic, though again for different reasons. It's a lot shorted than the album version, and the ordering of the verses and choruses are swapped for some reason. But even without the rain, the extended intro and the proper verses, this is still one of the greatest love songs ever written, certainly ever written by Townshend. Here he lets the guitar and strings lay the perfect groundwork for Daltrey, who delivers with gusto and passion a performance which again extends his range, producing a magical piece of music.

Having reached such heights, we are brought down to the realities of band life with a jaunty bump. 'Squeeze Box' is the only track from The Who By Numbers, and it's a poor choice. It was out of kiltre on the album and it's out of kiltre here. While Townshend's other more merry numbers of this period - like 'Blue, Red And Gray' - had substance, this is just a minefield of innuendo strung together like a pop song for a period long gone.

The title track of Who Are You is a damn-sight better, least not because it is bereft of any banjo. The familiar crash and synthesiser combinations have been written off as cliched by the more nostalgic of fans, this is still a very fine effort. Although Moon's abilities had by this stage all-but deserted him - thanks to a lethal cocktail of drink, drugs and much fine food - he is really trying, and in the process he comes up trumps on a few great occassions. Daltrey's bluster is a little off-putting, but it's not a tiresome or self-indulgent song, whichever way you look at it.

There is only one offering from the immediate post-Moon era on here. That's perhaps for the best. 'You Better You Bet' is taken from Face Dances and is a middle-brow pop song which tries a little too hard to recapture something lost forever. As hard as Kenney Jones might try, there is a massive hole in the mix where Moon once thundered along. Having slated it thus, this is still a pretty reasonable song; the big flaw is not the song on its terms, it's just that it doesn't have the same gripping, memorable feel to it as the classic era output did.

Finally, we come to the new stuff. Both 'Real Good Looking Boy' and 'Old Red Wine' were recorded in 2004. The former, described by Rolling Stone as "a soaring mix of swing, crash and an explicit touch of Elvis Presley"³, it's an affectionate and heartfelt number from a Townshend who has disposed of all the demons which guided the original Who, and turned them into contentment and a song of thanks to rock'n'roll. 'Old Red Wine', on the other hand, is a sweeping elegy to John Entwistle, poking fun at his foibles and contributions to the band which helped to make it great. Daltrey's voice is huskier, as it is throughout on Endless Wire (2006), but it's a great job and proof of the life left in this great band, despite the loss of two core members.

Then And Now is not to be viewed as just another Who compilation designed to introduce you to the band in a hotchpotch, commercially-biased way. The chief advantage of this is that it both brings Who fans and the casual listener (almost) bang up to date. By adding on the two new tracks - which seems to be a trend in the world of greatest hits collections - it sets the tone for the recordings on Endless Wire, thereby helping a whole new generation get into The Who. Some of the choices are a little odd - most of the best stuff from Who's Next and The Who By Numbers is lost in favour of the songs the general public are more familiar with. However, considering the role of the album is to introduce you to a band without being comprehensive, this does its job amicably, with few slip-ups along the way - save where individual tastes are concerned.

3.80 out of 5

References

¹ Pete Townshend, quoted in Andy Neill & Matt Kent, Anyway Anyhow Anywhere: The Complete Chronicle of The Who, 1958-1978 (London: Virgin Books, 2007), p.107.

² Ibid, p.149.

³ David Fricke, 'The Who: Then And Now', http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/thewho/albums/album/5188887/review/5943634/then_and_now. Accessed on October 22 2007.

Top 100 Albums - #69: Abattoir Blues (2004)

The first appearance of post-punk maestros Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds comes in Abattoir Blues, the first half of their most recent double album, Abattoir Blues/The Lyre Of Orpheus (2004, counted as two albums).The mid-1990s had been a good time for the Bad Seeds. Albums like Murder Ballads (1996) and its follow-up The Boatman's Call (1997) had received very positive reviews, with the latter being pronounced their masterpiece. But after the release of a best-of compilation in 1998, the Bad Seeds took a prolongued break as Cave struggled to overcome his heroin addiction. After going cold turkey over two years, Cave restarted work in 2000, writing songs for what would become No More Shall We Part (2001). But while this received similar acclaim to The Boatman's Call, their next effort, entitled Nocturama (2003), was uniformally panned. After guitarist Blixa Bargeld quit after nearly 20 years, many questioned whether the band was still a viable creative force.

Abattoir Blues is the result of all the confusion and pandemonium caused by Nocturama and Blixa's departure. It is hardly surprising then that the band would come out guns blazing. 'Get Ready For Love' is a complete break from the minimalist introspection of The Boatman's Call and parts of The Good Son (1990). As soon as the band begins, all expecting gentle piano tinged with whispered lyrics are thrown backwards off their chairs. This is a fascinating fusion of gospel with rock 'n' roll, with Cave in stupendous form. Butr most impressive of all is the guitar. You would have thought that without Blixa, this would have left a gaping hole in the band's sound. Instead, his replacement, Mick Harvey, both leads the song and gives sufficent room for James Johnston's organ work. In a word - brilliant.

Having set the bar very high at the outset, 'Cannibal's Hymn' returns to more familiar ground. It's quieter, more piano-heavy and gives Cave the room he needs to reach the sepulchral apogees which make his work so compellingly unique. Unlike the last song, this also gives sufficient space for Martyn P. Casey's bass; sadly drowned out by the gospel choir before, here it murmurs and pounds under Cave's dark ramblings. This is the kind of song that would have been at home on Murder Ballads, and for that reasons it's another Cave godsend.

'Hiding All Away' sees the band slip up, and for the first time the cracks peep through. Instead of being driven by guitar or piano, we are 'treated' to this wierd interference or background noise, over which Cave attempts a rockability drawl coupled with a stripped back gospel choir. It feels chaotic, like a forgotten half-processed outtake. It's trying to mix elements of 'The Carny' with American rock, and it just doesn't work in doing it.

Those new to Cave might have been sufficiently deterred to switch off. Those who were either brave or sensible to continue will count their blessings with 'Messiah Ward'. Opening with some very amenable piano, this has the same catchy refrain as something like 'The Hammer Song', only with a less obtrusive sound. Cave has rightly thrown into the mix some sweeter females vocals to counter his own idiosyncratic delivery. And while the lyrics are not the easiest to see through, the general feel of the song is carried across more than sufficiently for most.

For fans of the first track, 'There She Goes, My Beautiful World' will be perceived as a worthy rival. And they may well have a point. Cave's songs are never the catchiest to say the least, but when he does attempt a 'rambling rocker' he gets the hooks right, or at least enough to keep the casual listener vaguely entertained. If 'Get Ready For Love' was the ideal opener for what become the Abattoir Blues tour, this would have been the ideal closer. Just as good is 'Nature Boy'. With the feel of a Bruce Springsteen number, this song about a girl and nature is very well executed, even if, as before, the lyrics are not so memorable as we might expect from Cave. But, as I say, this is musically accomplished enough to more than carry it to its conclusion.

The title track is a strange beast. Opening with heavy piano and drums, Cave comes in with the placid line Sun is high up in the sky, I'm in my car/ Drifting down into the abattoir. What begins like 'Brompton Oratory' tinged with extra desperation gives way to airy female vocals and such inane lines as I woke up this morning with a frappachino in my hand. And yet - it's not damn bad. With a little patience, you get the hang of the drums and female parts, and you leave feeling contented.

Up until now, there have only been hints of a dominant genre in the Bad Seeds' electicism, save on a couple of tracks. But 'Let The Bells Ring' sounds resolutely bluesy from the start, with that sweetly singing guitar reminsicent of someone like Steve Earle. But Cave isn't the type to cut a straight 12-bar piece of humdrum. Instead, he takes that Western sound and uses it as a prism for his fascination with American music. Soon we see hints of country music, a mandolin (?!) and bits which sound reminiscent of a Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac. On top of all this, Cave wails and moans as only he can. And that isn't bad either.

It's a shame, then, that the album ends on such an obvious whimper as 'Fable Of The Brown Ape'. Half-rambling Paul Simon ballad, half-storming metal tribute, this can't make it up its mind what it is. But the worst part is, because of this (and Cave's nerve-stretching vocal performance) the storyline is lost - well, not so much lost as rendered obsolete and superfluous. And this in turn renders this so pointless that you are glad when it all dries up.

To the seasoned Bad Seeds listener, Abattoir Blues could be described as 'neo-classical', in the same vein as David Bowie's later work. As I have covered, if you listen carefully enough there are hints, riffs and motifs culled or sampled from the band's finest work. Whether this was deliberate, to show that they could cut it without Blixa, or simply the result of working together for 20 years, we don't know. Either would seem to justify both this album's low position and Cave's decision to form Grinderman as a means of escape. Don't get me wrong, Abattoir Blues is not a bad album, either on its own or taken alongside the lesser, more mellow The Lyre Of Orpheus. However, this is not as compelling as the band was in its prime - dare I say it, when a certain guitarist was present. That is something for the band to ponder should they choose to work together again.

3.78 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #82: How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb (2004)

U2's most recent offering is their third of five appearances on the chart. Regarded as a continuation of the themes and attitude on All That You Can't Leave Behind (2000), it set the tone both for the highly successful Vertigo tour (2005-06) and Bono's strong presence in the Make Poverty History campaign.


The late-1990s had been a difficult time for U2, with their previous album Pop (1997) getting indifferent reviews. Some questioned whether, with the rise of a new generation of rock bands led by the likes of Green Day and Sum 41, U2 had a place in the modern music industry. But the success of All That You Can't Leave Behind had reinvigorated U2, leading Bono to declare quite immodestly: "[We're] reapplying for the job. What job? The best band in the world job".¹ Following the end of the successful Elevation tour in 2001, the band spent the next three years releasing a 90s hits compilation - The Best of 1990-2000 (2002) - and the EPs 7 (2002) and Exclusive (2003).

The album opens up with 'Vertigo'. With its strangely plucked guitars and Spanish in the opening, it's a signature of the new sound. With 'Captain' Bono, at the helm, this is a very worthy effort which combines Clayton's stylish bass lines with The Edge's trademark high-pitched distorted guitar. Over power chords and shredding a-plenty, Bono delivers some of their strongest lyrics in years, for instance: The night is full of holes/ As bullets rip the sky/ Of ink with gold/ They twinkle as the/ Boys play rock and roll/ They know they can't dance/ At least they know... There is a hint of self-deprecating in both these lyrics and the song in general; it's as if U2 are making out that they are settling into their image and can live with their flaws.

'Miracle Drug' takes things right down at the start. Right from th beginning you sense that this is an attempt to match something along the lines of 'With Or Without Out'. On the down side, it features one of the worst lyrics on the album - Freedom has a scent/ Like the top of a newborn baby's head (sure it does, Bono). But while this can't even come close to that Joshua Tree masterpiece, it's a very good effort and a worthwhile equivalent for those who don't appreciate U2's 1980s sound, which admittedly can be a little rough.

This down-rock tone continues and improves on the next track. 'Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own' is Bono's tribute to his father, Bob Hewson, who passed away with cancer in 2001. Despite the cumbersome title, this is a brilliant effort. Bono is at his heartfelt, introspective best, and the lyrics could not be more genuine. He and his father did not always see eye to eye and they chronicle this, as you would expect. Musically, this is also a strong effort, notable for The Edge on backing vocals and sensitive playing from Mullen - although, to make one criticism, even at this stage he has been rather quiet on this album.

The first song on the album to underwhelm is 'Love And Peace Or Else'. Just looking at the title it's clear that Bono is switching into preacher mode. Despite its rather atmospheric opening, the song is relatively hollow and has the feeling of a rehash. Valid though the message is, it's one which Bono has said many times before in much better ways, and when he's this direct it rapidly becomes tiresome. To make a further criticism, Bon is allowed too much room for manoeuvre in relation to the rest of the band. As I said of October, a U2 with a flailing, unrestrained Bono is usually a U2 to avoid.

But before long, we ditch such criticism as we come to 'City Of Blinding Lights'. As on 'Vertigo', the signatures are all there - The Edge excels on his echoey guitar, Clayton is brooding on the bass and there is good stuff coming from Mullen. But the track is lifted and its sensitivity increased by the inclusion of piano, something which made October a lot more listenable. It doesn't work to have it on every U2 song, but here it's exactly what is needed to turn this from better-than-average rock song into a concert favourite. The song sees Bono at his spiritual apogee as he sings about heaven and beauty in a way which no other 40-year-old rockstar can carry off. It's a splendid, rousing song which showcases the absolute best in a band still at the top of their game.

Bono manages, having orchestrated such a triumph, to drop the ball on the next two songs. 'All Because Of You' may be a much more clever effort as far as the lyrics are concerned, but as far as the music is concerned, it's heavily clichéd. The Edge is relying on power chords to keep Bono in check, and while on this count he succeeds, he does so at the expense of whatever power the song possessed (as an inside, this frequently happened in The Who but with the vocals undermining the guitar - check out The Who By Numbers (1975) if you don't believe me). 'A Man And A Woman' sounds too much like 'Wild Honey', one of the lesser tracks on All That You Can't Leave Behind. To come straight to the heart of its faults, it's a dull way for Bono to show off his vocal range and play out with the mixing desk like a no-good Lindsey Buckingham.

'Crumbs From Your Table' drags things back temporarily from the land of boredom and self-parody. Rather than linger in sweet musings about relationships, Bono cuts to the spritual and Biblical chase with this song about Jesus. Though he does slip in the odd political hint - Where you live should not decide/ Whether you live or whether you die - this is a toned-down, straight-spirutual U2 which manages, because of this to gel together a very reasonable number. As is 'One Step Closer', for that matter. The sleeve credits Noel Gallagher for his help on this, and it shows in the restrained yet beautiful guitar work, as if Gallagher had broken all The Edge's fingers and then taught him to play again from scratch. The production is also very beautiful, with equal space given to all the players - imagine the surprise then, when it turned out that Steve Lillywhite was behind it. It seems the guy who cocked up October has got better with age.

It's just a shame that this creative coup doesn't last. 'Original Of The Species' was panned by MTV, and rightly so. It features that most clichéd of features on a rock track - a full violin section. A word to the wise, Bono - orchestral arrangements belong in classical music, progressive rock and rubbish ballads, not in stadium rock. Lines like I'll give you anything you want/ Except the thing that you aren't are difficult to comprehend and Bono's voice in grating and annoying on this, the track you are most likely to skip over on this shaky album.

'Yahweh' is the only time on the album when we find a track to match the brilliance of 'City Of Blinding Lights'. The reason is clear before you've even heard the first chord. Bono has once again disposed, more or less, of the politicking and the emotional diarrhoea and gone for the straightforward song about his Maker. Sure, he does slip in the odd reference, as before, but when vocally he has never sounded better you are willing to forgive or overlook it. Lillywhite has struck gold here by restraining both Bono and Mullen while The Edge strums away in passion.

The closer, 'Fast Cars', has a Spanish guitar feel to it. This doesn't harm it necessarily, but overall this is a lazy effort, and while 'Yahweh' would not have been a good closer, that hardly makes this a better choice. Sure, Clayton is given plenty of room - but to do what? There is some cheesy echo on Bono's vocals which make them sound even more off-putting. In general it's a bad way to end the album - a very bad way indeed.

How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb is not U2's best album by any criterion. There are many unhelpful flaws. Just like David Bowie, U2 here have entered into and consolidated a 'neo-classical' sound, taking the best bits from their back catalogue and writing new songs around their styles and themes. The difference is that Bowie can do it without slipping into self-parody, which is the track which this fall into on a number of isolated occassions. That said, on a number of occassions, the finest moments gel together into a number of good and great songs. As a general guide, the best songs are those on which Bono forsakes his role as the political saviour of the world, and focusses on his relationship with God. It's a good addition to their catalogue and a sign of consistency which often deserts band once they pass a certain age. Nevertheless, perhaps U2 are wise to change direction at this stage, since following this up with more of the same would probably be a foolish waste of money. All signs point to the new album being a success, but it must be precise and well-approached - even after 31 years in the business, U2 still have something to prove.

References
¹ Josh Tyrangiel, 'Bono's Mission', Time, February 23 2002 - available at http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,212605,00.html. Accessed on July 29 2007.

3.75 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #84: Franz Ferdinand (2004)

The first indie rock record on our chart is the debut album from Scottish band Franz Ferdinand, who set the standard for 21st-century indie pop-rock which all subsequent indie bands have sought to emulate.

The four-piece comprised of Alex Kapranos, Nick McCarthy, Bob Hardy and Paul Thompson, formed in 2001, when Kapranos and Hardy began playing together in Glasgow. McCarthy joined after meeting the two at a party. A guitarist and classically trained pianist, McCarthy originally wanted to try out on the drums, helped on by the fact that Thompson, ex-drummer with 1990s indie band Yummy Fur, wanted to try out guitar. But their positions soon swapped and the band began gigging. In 2003 they were spotted by Domino Records, who signed them and released a debut EP, Darts Of Pleasure.

'Jacqueline' gives the first indication of what sets both the band and the album apart. Unlike other indie bands - from the pleasantly aggressive Hard-Fi to the disgracefully shouty Cribs - Franz Ferdinand has a witty and intellectual feel to its lyrics. This is obvious even with the opening lines:

Jacqueline was seventeen, working on a desk when I-
vor peered above his spectacle
Forgot that he had wrecked a girl

You would not expect such poetry from a band so commercial and easy on the ears - as Kapranos admitted in 2007, "It’s always pop. Franz Ferdinand has always been pop."¹ After a very gentle and melodic opening, the bass guitar and drums kicks in and then McCarthy and Kapranos let rip with a series of razor sharp chords. What had been a mild-mannered folkish number with ulterior motives becomes a 21st-century stadium rocker. Lines like It's always better on holiday/ So much better on holiday/ That's why we only work when/ We need the money are both a direct appeal to their teenage audience and a summary of this generation's attitude.

'Tell Her Tonight' is more awkward and standard fare. With its repetitive verse structure and humdrum 60s chorus, it doesn't invoke the same emotional response. In what could be loosely called the middle-eight, Kapranos sounds so Teutonic and nasal that it becomes off-putting. McCarthy's chords are short, sharp and sub-standard when we consider the skill demonstrated on 'Jacqueline'.

We now come to 'Take Me Out'. This is not only the best track, it is an anthem for the 21st century. The chord progressions are sharper, the lyrics more memorable and the change in tempo and time signature at about 0:53 is on a sublime level only touched by the likes of 'Money'. The remainder of the song is breathtaking, toe-tapping and infectiously catchy. You will find it very hard not to stomp your feet, bang your head or air guitar to this superbly constructed song. While McCarthy works wonders with his strumming, Thompson's off-beat strokes add a wonderfully avant-garde touch. He is a very underrated drummer; though his skills are better showcased on You Can Have It So Much Better (2005), the signs are already there.

'The Dark Of The Matinée' manages to pretty much sustain this quality, again incorporating a well-executed tempo change. This is a love song which takes a welcome snipe at the vacuous pop and even more vacuous 'celebrities' emerging from the reality TV machine. The middle section is especially caustic:

So I'm on BBC2 now
Telling Terry Wogan how I made it and
What I made is unclear now
But his deference is, and his laugter is

With another infection chorus and good bass work - which is so often overlooked on indie records - this was another Top 10 hit simply because it is so well put together and sustains both musical prowess and contemporary relevance.

'Auf Asche' is the first truly strange track on the record. As shown by their videos, Franz Ferdinand are fascinated by 1920s avant-garde, and this is the first time this takes centre stage. There are hints in the spacious piano of an Eno soundscape - indeed, if Kapranos were any less distinctive, this may have been confused for a Bowie outtake from the Berlin era. There are no pop hooks either, but this is a cleverer and more complex song, so this doesn't really apply. With themes of broken love and isolation, and Christian references towards the end, this is a very interesting piece which would be an interesting thread to develop on later albums.

Having set an ever more ambitious and progressive tone, the band lose focus on both 'Cheating On You' and 'This Fire'. Both could be unfairly described as sell-outs - they are entirely built around catchy and repeating riffs - i.e. hooks - and the lyrics are relatively trite. 'Cheating On You' goes nowhere; you get the point of the song by the end of the first verse, or the first chorus if you're slower or more tolerant. 'This Fire' tries harder, with a good combination of Thompson's cymbals and McCarthy's squeaky riffs, but soon this collapses into their attempts at being lite-Muse. This doesn't get off the ground and they spend the remaining minutes wasting our time going around in circles, unsure of when is the time to stop.

'Darts Of Pleasure' manages to synthesise, at least partially, the conflicting media of aggressive, outspoken indie rock and quieter, avant-garde ostention. How? Largely through Kapranos' delivery and Thompson's drumming, both of which are highly intelligent. The song sounds like someone has taken 'Auf Asche' and 'Take Me Out', copied the best parts and blended them perfectly together. And, incidentally, the German at the end is one of the first incidencies in British music where using a foreign language for part of a song actually works.

'Michael' is pure guitar pop, coming from a band who could be loosely described as 'Blur with enthusiasm', or more accurately, 'Better than Blur'. The song is about a friend of the band who got drunk and started dancing effeminately at a party. Kapranos may not be Morrissey, but he succeed admirably in conveying the homoerotic impulse of the song in his lyrics and his delivery. The band sound confident, rocky and full of energy. There are some lovely harmonies reminiscent of The Beatles from McCarthy, who does himself resemble a young Sir Paul.

'Come On Home' is another well-crafted song with an American feel to it. Indeed you could be forgiven for turning down the volume prematurely for assuming that this was a country ballad purely by the sound of Kapranos' guitar. Hardy underscores him very well in the verses, while Thompson keeps things going well and McCarthy staves off country comparisons by some simple yet splendid synthesiser work - another avenue to pursue on future albums, should they so choose.

The album would be very good if 'Come On Home' had been the closer. But, unfortunately as it turns out, the band have one more offering. '40'' is too loose to pass off properly. Kapranos is trying to be clever with his lyrics - perhaps too clever, as after the initial few impressive lines it degenerates first into a 60s 'la la la' filler, then an organised studio jam with little sense of direction. What a shame.

Universally praised when it came out, Franz Ferdinand clearly deserves a lot of the praise it was given. The production is excellent, bringing out the four instruments as a collective unit, instead of four opposing war machines. The songs, with a few exceptions, are good not just because they are catchy, but because they are intelligent, arty and have a subtle wittiness that you don't see in many 21st century bands. It is also very bold for introducing part-way through into the mix a series of instruments and influences which could prove successful on later efforts. Above all, the real significance of Franz Ferdinand is an historical one; in years to come it will be the record which relaunced the indie quest for the charts long after Oasis had passed their self-by date. Though a little rough around the edges, it is a worthy addition to any record collection.

3.73 out of 5

References
¹ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franz_Ferdinand_(band). Accessed on July 26 2007.