It might just be me, but I get the impression that there are some folks quietly peeved that the proverbial Jaxx have wriggled free of pop’s noble underground and zoomed into an orbit that only whizzy, heaving masses like Robbie Williams and Kylie traditionally spin. We loved Remedy and Rooty, but only on the condition that it was for our ears and our ears only. It was a one on one relationship. It was monogamous. It was a blistering, all night carnival and it was happening on our island. We didn’t want photographers, we didn’t want gatecrashers, we didn’t want the intrusive gaze of the public. It was our island – a fantasy island – and we’d invited Felix and Simon and a couple of close-friends only. And whilst they were free to indulge in whatever musical escapade they wished they were not free to leave the island. You see, Jaxx Island was a bit like Solaris; they could be whatever you wanted them to be. They were everything you’d ever dreamt of, ever lost or ever fantasized about. They were the ‘visitors’. They were ‘neutrinos’. But if they ever left Jaxx Island – the whole gorgeous, gaudy spectacle would simply cease to exist for you. And for a time perhaps, it did. Especially when they topped Glastonbury, and started doing warm-up tricks for Robbie. And that point it simply vanished.
Or so you thought. With ‘Crazy Itch Radio’ you, me and the guy in the pub kissing the froth on his third-pint of Boddies’ get a chance to have a little of Jaxx Island in the car, in the club, at the garage and in the shops. It’s just as good as it always was, but this time you have to accept that there are going to be other partners, that this is not a strictly monogamous relationship and that Felix and Simon are free to sleep with the masses should they wish – whether that’s the crowd at Glastonbury, the 800,000 school kids, interns, lawyers, plumbers and teachers that bought their ‘Singles’ album or the entire burlesque residents of Rooty and SW9.
Pitched somewhere between the salacious and spicy ‘Remedy’ and the full-throttle pop cartoonery of 2001’s ‘Rooty’, ‘Crazy Itch Radio’ sees the Brixton boys dispense with the edgy, urban horra-house that characterized the aggressive ‘Kish Kash’ album and reacquaint themselves with all the subtle exotic contra rhythms that defined their earlier status as cutting-edge carnival organisers. The edges are smoother, the sides more curved and it’s more giddy, more girly and more beautiful than ever before. In place of the crushing machinery of ‘Kish Kash’ and the saccharine buzz of ‘Rooty’ is a warmer, spicier conflation of Philadelphia strings and horns, some lush jazz-funk, and some smooth canoodling soul. It’s also an album that is stuffed to the rafters with peruvian folk bands, Greek dancers, sambas, bossas, Brazilian drum bands and characters like the 50-year-old Russian accordion player Serge, who almost scuppered the whole project by spilling black coffee over the mixing desk; Swedish popette Robyn, one half of duo the Knife; and east London grime gyal Lady Marga, who gives vain boys a sonic slap in the face with her bouncy, ass-shaking Rio bound ‘Run 4 Cover’ street theatre.
Basically it’s the sound of someone falling in love all over again. The boys have rediscovered the thrill of the chase, the joy of seduction and the first pink blush of intoxication is there for everyone involved to appreciate; whether it’s the rolling country twang of ‘Take Me Back To Your House’, the gypsy klezmer madness of ‘Hey You’ or the static itch of the bolly party disco track, ‘Everybody’.
A mouthful of cherry-cola. A fistful of pink carnations. It’s big, it’s brash, it’s beautiful.