The first time I heard Bloc Party, I walked into a house/dance/birthday party, and they came blasting through the speakers and a girl I know shouted their name and rushed to the dance floor. I understood the feeling then, the energy was raw, fresh and entertaining, but this new record has me baffled. I recognize the need to fend off the critics waiting in dark rooms, illuminated only by computer screen, waiting to pounce with the words "sophomore slump." But growth and maturity can be organic. It just doesn't feel that way here.
There's just too much flourish, and too little content. Maybe I'm getting old or jaded or am just too damn cynical, but while "Song for Clay" felt sincere, I have a hard time feeling bad for guys that cash out on the very people the love to hate -- hipsters. But I suppose that's always a hard fought battle; getting a message through to an audience is the nobler of tasks for people that play music for a living, and it must be a difficult admission to yourself that a good portion of listeners take you as entertainment, not as teacher, seer, pundit or therapist. That's the rub; if you become too self-important, you lose what you first had.
I always think of Lester Bangs' imaginary conversation with Martin a fan of The Clash, that first appeared in NME sometime in 1977: "...we must be content in the knowledge that the potency of form ensures the efficacy of content, that is, that the driving primitive African beat and boarlike guitars will keep bringing the audience back for repeated hypnotized listenings until the revolutionary message laid out plainly in the lyrics cannot help but sink in!"
It's an admirable task, really, trying to bring it all to the next level, but the risks are high, indeed. The successes of the album all belong to the strengths that carried over from Silent Alarm: the super-solid rhythm section and the Okereke's yelping desperation on "Where is Home?" Unfortunately, much of that desperation has been replaced by confident vocals that tend to over-exaggerate the voice quality, and turns the seriousness into lounge-bar political overtures. Subtlety in lyrics is underrated. I have little doubt that the concern shown on this record is genuine, but the execution is imprecise.
The production does a lot of good for the record in other places -- The drums are consistently dynamic and spun in different ways; listen to tracks 1, 3, 4, and you have significant and interesting variations. The end of track 6, "On" has some slick keys and crisp thumping kick drums, and there's some good noise in "Where is Home?", with a stutter effect in the vocals and guitar that is refreshing.
The most disappointing part of a mediocre record that's put out by a good band: exceptional effort, but you know they're capable of so much more. Maybe I'm just unappreciative and old, or too jaded to recognize that an attempt to cross politics and art is always good. I read an article that said they were working on some of these songs already when the finished the first album, which is more indicative than anything else that this could have been a forced evolution. Until the real thing happens, I'll just keep enjoying the dance-party. |