Like that wizard's cap.The slowdown works so well on "Take Me Out" for three main reasons. As I told Ryan, Franz Ferdinand didn't need a concept. I'd made that stuff up to amuse myself during boring albums. I honestly couldn't remember Volodrag, The Hold My Coat, Santa Schultz, or the bands in whose reviews they appeared. As with all great entertainment, it will divide opinion. There's no waffling or concessions for people who won't get it. There's no consideration for what trends have just come and gone. Like all lasting records, Franz Ferdinand steps up to the plate and boldly bangs on the door to stardom. Even Damon Albarn's beloved melodica makes an appearance 2\xBD minutes in. Like the overlooked brilliance of Parklife's Side B, the song turns back to triumphant, operatic music spiked with pessimism and noise. Flashy flanger-flecked guitar and layered, lachrymose keyboards add an epic air to the tale of confused post-relationship emotions of "Come on Home", while "40 Ft" tiptoes in on spy guitars. Only on "Cheating on You" do the drums drop their high-hat riding for stuttering punk.įranz Ferdinand rarely stray far from the dueling-guitars-with-occasional-keyboard approach, granting even the bounciest dance floor numbers pleasantly rough edges, but the final two tracks peak with greater arrangement and studio flourish. Even their breakthrough single, "Take Me Out", blatantly changes its mind from Pixies-like pop to squiggly guitar disco a quarter of the way through. Kaparanos soon blurts phrases like "it's so much better on holiday," "I'm so drunk I don't mind if you kill me," "I'm alive, I'm alive," and "we need the money." The pace never lets up. "Jacqueline" opens the album deceivingly with gentle acoustic strums and student poem prattle before raygun guitars and splashing cymbals annihilate any notion of plaintive reflection.
They're poised to be the next Duran Duran or the next Pulp. With their meteoric rise, Franz Ferdinand could very well be within a year of it. By the last verse, Kapranos imagines himself smiling wide, sitting with Abba-loving AM talk show host Terry Wogan. On the upcoming single, "Dark of the Matinee", Alexander Kapranos positions himself as a bitter cynic who eventually gives in to fame (though it may be, as the title suggests, in the dimmer regions of the spotlight) after being charmed by an attractive optimist, and, one would imagine, the unapologetic funk of the track itself. Not content to kickstart their career on an album laden mostly with potential, the Glaswegians have banged out a celebratory LP with lyrics bearing surprising satire, wit, and unabashed romance. Call it Scotpop if you feel uncomfortable. I could erroneously throw Franz Ferdinand in with the recent dance-punk, freak-shit, whatever "scene." But I'm calling a spade a spade. If that sounds too hopelessly recent and uncool for the hipsters, I could go obtuse and say Franz Ferdinand revive the sounds of the John Cale-era Squeeze or the New York never-weres The Necessaries. Each song on their self-titled debut catwalk swaggered with sucked-in cheeks like Alex James' effortless bounce on Blur's "Girls & Boys". In their silk button-downs and slickly combed hair, the band mimicked the gauche decadence of Suede to such a point that it appeared they were wearing Anderson and Butler's hand-me-down menswear. The parallels were fluorescent: Franz and I were both stubbornly nostalgic for the decade-gone heights of Britpop. I've been looking for a way to work schnauzers and Magyar into a review. No, no, Franz Ferdinand was the perfect vehicle for a comeback. I looked up the aisle of the bus and spotted Ott hunched over a laptop, biting his tongue and copying studiously from a Thesaurus. Besides, you promised me the Franz Ferdinand review months ago." "I'm seeing the interpretive dancer Santa Schultz, the Revolutionary War soldier Ham Grass, advice columnist Professor Rok, Diapers the glam-loving lab monkey, Justin Davies the bass player of The Hold My Coat, The Bummelgörk, Kelly the Masseuse, Volodrag the Yugoslavian sycophant, Paul Bunyan, Wolfie. I'm seeing a comeback for one of your zany characters," Ryan said, making stupid TV-producer gestures with his hands.
I've even done the I'm-not-going-to-do-a-concept-review-anymore concept review," I said. People love them and hate them," he said. I really want you to do one of your trademark concept reviews. "Ah, Jesus, man, I knew there was a catch," I sighed. Besides, I wanted to ask you to write a new review," he said.
I just don't see why six years is an anniversary to celebrate," I said. Inside the box sat a green lapel pin shaped like the number six laid over Poseidon's trident. "I was going to wait to give this to you," he said.
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