First we had daft punks. Now we have daft buggers. Why does the French take on pop always manage to find a none too modest vein of hilarity and piss-take in its artists? Ever since Plastic Bertrand adopted his ludicrous punk rock posturing on 1977’s Top Of The Pops, French music has always arrived with either a funny dance, a wardrobe of garish suits, an unusual stage-prop or a camp expression. And just occasionally all four. Which is a shame, as beneath the lumbering poststructuralism and the cute, shambolic irony bands like One-Two have something fairly relevant to offer. Who knows why they do it. Perhaps those Frenchies prefer to have the distinction between high and low art defined with even greater contrast by a comic moustache, a lime-green umbrella and some improvisational mime rather than some boundary blurring mishap like the UK’s Damian Hirst. In this context it’s understandable. Perhaps ‘pop’ is deemed too frivolous a thing to be anything other than a self-parodying novelty. Perhaps they just find it amusing. Who knows.
A smidgen of Sparks, a modicum of Roxy Music, a pinch of Daft Punk, a dash of Simian, Pizzicato Five, Cornelius and whole lot of other stuff. Getting a grasp of One-Two is a little like getting grips with jelly; the firmer your grip, the more likely it is to jump out of your hand and make your trousers sticky. ‘10am’ could be anyone from Grandaddy, Neil Innes and Jean Michel Jarre: gently psychedelic, whimsical and whirring with all manner of spooky, futuristic synth-noises. ‘Love Again’ is a similar proposition; space noises, fey, cooing vocals, a theremin and some classic, vintage boss rhythm drum programming. In fact, there’s more references, more plotlines, more anachronisms, more self-reflexiveness and more brains in this one record than there was in the entire first season of Gene Rodenberry’s Star Trek and I’m including the pilot episode where there’s all those guys with large heads doing shit with the crew’s minds. Check out ‘The End Of Your Song’ if you don’t believe me. It may sound a little like Clive Dunn’s ‘Grandad’ laced with opiates, but it sure as hell melts in moments.
‘Love Again’ is exhausting yet marvellous record, as daft as a brush and as tempting as chocolate.