Wring out the Old; Bring in the New. According to Nancy Bock, Vice President of Education at The Soap and Detergent Association, the start of a new year is a good time to put to rest some cleaning practices that have seen
their day. Whether it’s sanitizing sponges in the microwave, using soda as a stain remover or using crumpled old newspapers to clean mirrors and windows, there are some things that just don’t work anymore. And for proof, look no further than these four smartly dressed if rather louche Glaswegian dandies who release third album, ‘Tonight: Franz Ferdinand’ in January 2009. They’re
not looking to throw things out exactly, just looking for new ways to freshen things up. Not so much a fire sale as a spring clean. Out go Alexander Rodchenko and the Russian Avant Garde artwork and in comes the Weegee vibe, a cover that is as beautiful as it is shocking, as intrusive as it is remote and as likely to offend as beguile. Alex and the boys no longer represent the slightly aloof and ironic observers of songs like ‘Matinee’ but interested criminal parties. This time they’re on the other side of the lens. It’s a little graphic, a little invasive, but their depiction of an imaginary crimescene craftily corresponds to the direction of the record: we’re entering a seedy and hostile place where literally anything could happen.
Of course, the fundamentals are roughly intact. The band still look like they’ve
strolled out of the boardrooms of a partially nationalised bank of your choice,
opened their briefcase, loosened their ties, pulled out a self-assemble guitar
and proceeded to kick out the jams in tight 4/4 formation. Nothing’s changed,
perhaps, but the remit and the extra pound and a half of flesh they’ve slapped
onto the sound.
Assisted by producer Dan Carey, whose credits include Hot
Chip, the Brazilian Girls and a couple of tasty remixes for the
terrifically eclectic French electronic label, Kitsuné, ‘Tonight’ kicks
off with the calm yet archly coercive ‘Ulysses’ which after a short, swelling
intro quickly erupts into a lary, static-fuelled anthem. It’s the sound of blood
boiling, hormones raging and the constant threat of a fight breaking out, disciplined
yet anxious. The road map may be drawn but there may be detours, deviations
and unexpected thrills along the way, the promise of which is tightly underpinned
by Bob Hardy’s syncopated bass, a feature that gives the three-year project
its pulse. And whilst the mechanical post-punk rhythms and T-Square song structures
still tether it squarely in the ‘art-school’ tradition, the synths that emerge
from the mix are released like pheromones; this is the music of the night. The
clothes are cool but the palms are sweaty.
Supplementing the usual flashes of insight are flashes of Alex’s canines. ‘Turn
it On’ pays homage to the feral riffing of Domino labelmates, the Arctic
Monkeys, complete with yobbish call-and-answer chorus. It’s pushy, it’s
confrontational and the duelling, distorted riffs that come courtesy of Kapranos
and McCarthy mimic the sound of a revving motor. More primal and more guttural
than previous releases, we don’t quite know what Alex is talking about, all
we know is that it sounds dirty. The boys are out for a shamelessly riotous
evening. ‘Kiss me. Lick your cigarette then kiss me. Kiss me where your
eye don’t meet me’. It’s an image that Alex reprises in the record’s closing
moments: ‘Katherine kiss me. Slippy little lips will split me. Split me
where your eye won’t meet me’. The swaggering, uncouth bluster that has
buoyed ‘Tonight’ thus far quietly abates and the dazzling young
libertine reflects on his latest conquest. This is the comedown moment. That
point on a Saturday evening when the dawn outfoxes the jinx and the chemicals
that have been flooding around your brain subside. In the torpid ‘Dream Again’
this lapse into semi-consciousness is neatly supported by Carey’s rumbling tribal
rhythms and the sound of a ‘thousand whispering words.’ It’s drowsy, rather
whimsical, and leads rather naturally into the closing song on the album. A
solitary guitar, a few soft whispers and momentarily at least, it sounds as
if the record’s fumbling alpha male is experiencing a rare flash of insight.
But though the understated nature of Carey’s arrangements may allude to some
kind of awakening, it’s really nothing of the sort. Our hero is simply acknowledging
his own grubby little raison d’être. The path inevitably led to the same place
it did every Saturday evening around this time: to an unmoving, brief encounter
around the back of a nightclub with a girl not of his dreams but of his genes.
It’s a perfectly weighted finish. The thrusting glam of the album’s opener
predictably collapses in a selfish and unheroic fashion. It’s a climax without
a climax. A race without a finish. The coital imperative is satisfied and the
cycle of abuse goes on …
Sure, you can bark at the repetitions and the fact that certain motifs are
apt to change only fractionally more often than a young boy’s underpants, but
excusing the occasional filler (‘What She Came For’), the skewed beats and slippery
circus tricks of tracks like ‘Twilight Omens’ and the snake-hipped calypso of
‘Send Him Away’ make it an ambitious if exhausting New Year’s resolution.
Hedonistic soundtrack to a night out on the town, or an intelligent, playful
commentary on the cycle of chemical violence that typifies the modern Odysseus
on his customary mad weekender. It’s good even if you haven’t mastered the classics.
Even better if you have.
‘TONIGHT: FRANZ FERDINAND’ RELEASED 26.01.09 (DOMINO)