Being branded ‘clever’ can be to a record’s credit or it’s detriment in my book, and it’s usually the latter, if only because such cute, scandalous cunning is traditionally the reserve of one of two evils: those who know it all and those who like to sound like they do. We hate those who know it all for being too clever and we hate those who like to sound like they do for not really knowing enough. Nobody likes a swot. Not teachers, not parents and not the average Joe Meek on the streets. Knowing your craft is one thing, being ‘crafty’ is another thing entirely. Which leads me to The Ark, split evenly between pop-savvy purveyors of flash and flamboyant fun, saviours of stadium rock and wordy, pretentious fakes with only the designs of a previous era upon which to declare their art. And opening track ‘This Piece Of Poetry Is Meant To Do Harm’ couldn’t illustrate this point any better than if I’d written it myself. Crisp T-Rex guitar chops, swirling 70s strings, foppish ‘actorly’ vocal littered with lyrical word-play and arty, loquacious gobbledegook and subject-matter so close to your own objections it could have leaked from your own bile. Not that it’s all bad. Someone at least had the decency to fade the damned thing out before the pomposity of the whole thing imploded, even if the fade comes just as it sounds like the chorus is about to deliver its final killing blow. It’s abrupt to say the least, but it suggests someone is on our side, even if it’s not the band members themselves. That this Swedish band court ‘attitude’ and rock n roll credibility with the desperation of a leper in a pharmacy doesn’t help either. ‘Rock City Wanker’s heckling, garage rhythms sound like they should be sleazy, they sound like they should be angry, but what punk worth their weight could vent their vitriol with such loquacious bottom rot as ‘nocturnal pancakes’ and ‘the vicodine is kicking in, kicking in, oh no…’ ‘Clamour For Glamour’ is a similar deal. On the one hand Ola Salo and the gang are heckling the fashion-tourists and on the other they’re flagrantly gatecrashing the tour-bus on which these charlatans travel. Throwing stones near glass-houses? Didn’t anyone read the signs?
For every sleight of hand though, there’s also a bit of magic and when The Ark dispense with the bitter-ramblings of folks born out of time they deliver some sharp, cruel pop blows. ‘One Of Us Is Going to Die Young’, ‘Hey Kwanon-Coma’ and ‘Girl Your Going To Get ‘Em (Real Soon)’ all dazzle like pure pop gems and there’s even a few surprises amongst the remaining fillers. One thing is for sure; when the band stop moaning about not being invited to the party and throw one of their own, they and us start having some fun.
They’re not the Real Thing, but then neither is Diet Pepsi. If it tastes good, it is good.