Yeah, it's been a while. Here's two from the vaults. More words soon enough.
28.9.11
Arctic Monkeys - Suck It And See
It was then that the curse hit. When you’ve made an album that expresses everything you’ve learnt up to that point, what, then, do you have left to write about? 2007’s Favourite Worst Nightmare came and went, with a couple of expectedly great melodies, and flashes of lyrical brilliance, but little in the way of innovation. Similarly, with a new record collection (Hendrix, Sabbath etc.) and production credits from Josh Homme, Humbugpromised to showcase a brand new, badass incarnation of the Arctic Monkeys, which turned out to be surprisingly convincing. Their guitars sounded thick and impending, and a world-weary Alex Turner was more in his element as a Nick Cave-style balladeer.
Now, a full six years after their debut, Arctic Monkeys’ third shot at relevance is still just wide of the mark. That said, they do sound far more confident in their sound, and the newer influences finally sit comfortably with Turner’s morbid crooning. Matt Helder’s drums are as brutal and fresh sounding as ever, understatedly thrashing through each bouncing melody. At first listen, the tracks hold up. There are enough riffs and hooks to keep you interested, and each line is sung with an underlying melancholy that hints at something much darker underneath the surface.
Problem is though, there’s not.
Lead single ‘Don’t Sit Down ‘Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair’ starts off with a promisingly seedy guitar line and grows into a thundering foot-stomper (special mention again to Matt Helders’ drumkit shitstorm), but save for an oo-oo-oo-yeah-yeah-yeah chorus, even by the end of its three-minute duration it seems tired and unimaginative. There’s plenty of workable stuff here, but every spark of ingenuity is stretched out and exploited, a far cry from the frequent splashes of colour jumping out of the first record.
While the performances are musically spot-on (Matt Helders isthe man), the lyrics and songcraft seem forced and lazy, which regrettably exposes a band firmly resting on their laurels. The greatest shame of all, perhaps, is that the album isn’t bad. Once it gets going, the vision’s there. All My Own Stunts is firmly up there with their best songs, and opener She’s Thunderstorms is a charming jangly anthem, both showing just what this album could have been. They’ve a solid new direction and as a band have an incredible potential to create another classic album, but for whatever reason, it’s yet to arrive.
At the start of the video to 2005’s I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor, a fresh-faced Alex Turner gave us a warning through his awkward teenage diffidence: ‘don’t believe the hype’. Maybe we should have believed him.
67%
Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
In a 2010 interview with MTV, Kanye West admitted in a rare moment of pseudo-modesty that “I do have a goal in this lifetime to be the greatest artist of all time, [but] that’s very difficult being that I can’t dance or sing”, and in his more vocally ambitious moments on MBDTF, the latter is made abundantly clear. How, then, do you go about proposing your place as the greatest indie-leaning rap megastar in the world? West’s own particular brand of superstar is miles away from the secret-freakshow stadium pop of his hero Michael Jackson. This new proposed superstar marries porn stars in Hell Of A Life, runs his mouth off about douchebags and scumbags in Runaway, and tells just about everyone to kiss his asshole. In fact, as he repeatedly proclaims in his wildly cathartic centre-piece, he’s a motherfuckin’ monster.
The list of guest stars is enough to sell this album alone, with the inclusion of mainstream big-hitters Rihanna, Jay-Z and Rick Ross, as well as a couple of inspired choices from across the board, including Nicki Minaj (Trinidadian no-bullshit brat rapper), Justin Vernon (Wisconsin cabin-folk staple) and John Legend (super-smooth sex-pest crooner). Each disparate guest star brings a fresh take to the Kanye West brand, never once sounding forced or out of place.The ensemble casts on Monster andSo Appalled show each artist off individually, but the message and ambition of the tracks are never lost.
Almost every track stands alone, but in All Of The Lights, West finally has his anthem. It sounds gigantic, and encapsulates his vision and purpose up to this point. The semi-dub-like chorus pops give way to a winding, off-beat groove for the verses, and the feeling of grandeur never lets up. As a single, it’s certainly catchy, with Rihanna’s club sing along chorus, but shows enough intelligence and dexterity to demonstrate just how good pop music can be.
The genius of this album is not in the performances (despite the all-star cast), nor is it in some great, sign-of-the-times lyrical statement. West’s saving grace, and his brilliance as a performer, is his unflinching dedication to his music.
West relies on a deep knowledge of sound and attitude, together with his own tortured musings on 21st century stardom, to deliver a statement so grand and decadent, yet ultimately insular and personal, that you can’t help but think this is the greatest record he could make. The attitude is not one of ego and self-promotion (much as he’d like you to think), rather it shows a tenacious self-belief, and a rejection of any suggestion of modesty, self-consciousness and self-sacrifice. Kanye West isn’t the messiah, but he is sure as hell trying his best.
“Have you lost your mind/Tell me when you think we’ve crossed the line/No more drugs for me/Pussy and religion is all I need/Grab my hand and baby we’ll live a hell of a life”
82%
