Cardiac Arrest

Spiritualized - Songs in A&E (Spaceman, 2008)

Somewhere, somehow, Jason Spaceman lost his spacesuit. After all the justified acclaim that greeted ‘Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space’, he became lost in self-consciousness, one of the gravest afflictions for a musician and composer. Either through trying to meet the expectations of others, or by analysing his own motivations too intensely, he became bogged down by preconceived ideas of how his music should sound. ‘Let It Come Down’ had its moments, but its vaunting and grandiose ambitions could only ultimately be thwarted. At its worst, it dipped more than a big toe into schmaltz and sentimentality. ‘Amazing Grace’ was a bigger mis-step though - a guileless reaction to its predecessors that sounded simplistic and uninspired, drawing too transparently from its influences and adding little of its own.

The signs for ‘Songs in A&E’ looked better. The title is crucial – a dry piece of wordplay juxtaposing Pierce’s recent period of near-fatal illness with his tendency to concentrate on a narrow harmonic range (once an intriguing part of the Spiritualized dynamic, now looking increasingly like a substantial limitation). It suddenly seemed as if he might once again be both instinctive and inspired. These songs were all written before that illness though and, in retrospect, last year’s Acoustic Mainlines tour gave a pretty strong hint of what to expect. This is very much another step on Pierce’s route to redefining himself as a classic songwriter and arranger – perhaps in the mould of a Burt Bacharach, a Brian Wilson or a Jack Nitzsche.

As a result, there’s little of the early Spiritualized’s eerie, mesmerising ambience – and even less of their mid-period noise fetish. In fact, the bulk of ‘Songs in A&E’ sounds tepid – even its grandest songs sounding closer to Embrace or Richard Ashcroft than to the genuinely stirring delights of ‘Ladies and Gentlemen…’. ‘Songs in A&E’ lacks the dramatic impact of that album’s orchestrations, or its articulate expression of emotions. It also lacks the unique otherworldliness of ‘Lazer Guided Melodies’ or ‘Pure Phase’.

Spiritualized songs used to be about creating an enveloping and haunting sound, pregnant with mystery and emotion. Think back to ‘I Think I’m in Love’, ‘You Know It’s True’, ‘Angel Sigh’ or ‘Let It Flow’. The songs here are often centred on blandly strummed acoustic guitar, a focal point that makes Pierce’s limitations as a musician considerably more transparent. Listen to the two chords of ‘Baby I’m a Fool’, and it suddenly becomes clear how little in the way of harmonic or melodic interest Pierce can conjure. It’s only when the brass and strings come in at the end and we at last get some textural variation that the song becomes in any way exciting. Even then, there’s a cloying sense of déjà vu that reveals how Pierce has failed to progress beyond his over-familiar musical concerns here. ‘Baby I’m A Fool’ could easily have appeared, in rawer, less polished form, on one of the early Spacemen 3 albums. Perhaps this is simply further evidence that this line-up of Spiritualized simply doesn’t have the feral brilliance of the group that dazzled the Royal Albert Hall ten years ago and who were unceremoniously dumped for such achievements.

A much bigger problem is posed by Pierce’s voice though. I’ve defended his singing in the past, but even I have to concede that he’s drifted too far into the realms of the nasal whine here. Authenticity needn’t be important – but the child-like (yes, child-like is the right choice of words – ‘Don’t Hold Me Close’ intentionally sounds like a child’s lullaby), grating tone of his voice renders the songs both unconvincing and irritating, a problem not helped by his increasingly repetitive linguistic tropes.

Yet again, he’s talking about ‘a hurricane inside my veins’ or wanting to get higher, or proclaiming ‘heaven it ain’t easy, you know I’ve got the scars to show I’m here’. Even a cursory look at the song titles shows that his insistence on reducing songs to the age-old drugs/religion parallel is seriously wearing thin now. There’s ‘Soul on Fire’, ‘I Gotta Fire’ and, more bizarrely, ‘Sitting on Fire’. Sitting on Fire?!?! - Jason – if you need to remove some troublesome hair, there are cleaner and safer methods! None of these songs actually come close to capturing the intensity their titles require. If you’re going to write in language dominated by fire and fever, you need to sound, at the very least, fiery. On the rhythmically and melodically monotonous ‘I Gotta Fire’, Pierce merely sounds like he’s in need of a good laxative.

The best of the gospel-tinged ballads that dominate the album is ‘Death Take Your Fiddle’, which uncomfortably samples the noise of a respirator, and comes closest to capturing a peculiar mood – perched on the precipice between life and death perhaps, and slightly redolent of Johnny Cash. Even this is marred by Pierce’s voice though, pinched as it is into a weedy whine. Didn’t his voice once sound distant and vulnerable, as if overwhelmed by the musical cacophonies and orchestral swells he concocted around himself? Now foregrounded, it merely sounds untutored and, worse, uncharismatic. One critic memorably described listening to Spiritualized’s great single ‘Feel So Sad’ as being akin to ‘bathing in a vat of acid’. It would be difficult to liken anything here to such a surreal experience.

There are some further plus points, particularly among the more upbeat moments, some of which at least attempt to push the group into new territory. It’s a small mercy that there isn’t yet another deliberate rewrite of ‘Electricity’ here. ‘You Lie You Cheat’ makes more effective use of Pierce’s snarling voice by pitting it against harsh distortion and a rolling 6/8 rhythm. It has propulsive energy and righteous anger. Better still is ‘Yeah Yeah’, with its insistent Bo Diddley-esque washboard groove. Pushed gleefully onwards by handclaps and tremolo guitar, it’s one of the few moments here that sounds both joyful and exciting and it demonstrates what Pierce could have achieved with ‘Amazing Grace’ had he been a little less didactic.

Elsewhere, the numbered ‘harmony’ interludes that break up the album are minimal and touching. I’m not sure of the provenance of these tracks, but I suspect they may be part of the soundtrack Pierce composed for Harmony Korine’s film ‘Mr. Lonely’ (hopefully a more knowledgeable reader might fill me in or correct me here). They are tender, sweet and quietly majestic – and I wonder whether it might not have been more interesting and unexpected for Pierce to base an entire album on this aesthetic, rather than falling back on age old clichés once more. If the language has been exhausted, why not focus on the music?

The chief problem with ‘Songs in A&E’ is that it has little feeling or substance beneath the surface. The bulk of it feels affected – it has little in the way of edge or passion and as a result ends up sounding contrived, conceited and really rather boring. It seems to be based on a somewhat false, misguided sense of soulfulness that emphasises ideals of extreme emotions over instinctive gestures or expressions. The best of the Spacemen 3 recordings and the first three Spiritualized albums ought to be enough to secure Pierce’s reputation, but he’s doing plenty to undermine his right to a place in the pantheon here.

This may well get glowing reviews elsewhere in the music press but, honestly, if critics came to this album without Pierce’s history or backstory (particularly his recent experience), would they be in any way impressed by its sheer lack of originality? That Pierce’s vast musical knowledge goes well beyond the traditional songwriters’ canon – incorporating Krautrock, free improvisation, electronica and contemporary composition – cannot in any way be gleaned from listening to ‘Songs in A&E’. Even if we accept that his aims have shifted from a broad interest in sound and musical exploration to simply being accepted as a great songwriter, he’ll need to at least write some more great songs in order to achieve such recognition. This is another one for the growing stockpile of 2008 disappointments. In comparison with the fearlessness and brutal honesty of Portishead’s ‘Third’ it sounds predictable and limp. If Pierce was once floating in space, he now sounds earthbound and dangerously exhausted. That respirator is needed to recharge him in more ways than one.

In Praise of Overstatement

The Last Shadow Puppets - The Age Of Understatement

Regular readers might be shocked to realise that I’m beginning to wonder if my indifference to the Arctic Monkeys might have been a trifle unfair. It’s been a conjecture of mine that if that group are the most original and inventive prospect British music has to offer, modern British music must be in a very big rut. But listening to ‘The Age of Understatement’, a collaboration between the Monkeys’ Alex Turner and Miles Kane of The Rascals (an even less interesting Britrock group), I begin to see some of the much lauded sophistication in Turner’s writing. The wiry surf guitars and bravado drumming that characterise the Monkeys are nowhere to be found here though. Instead we have a highly polished and also no doubt very sincere homage to the lavish orchestrations of 1960s pop music – particularly referencing the early albums of Scott Walker. The nimble and light marching drumming is provided, somewhat surprisingly, by James Ford, producer of Klaxons and one half of Simian Mobile Disco. The superb arrangements, less surprisingly, come from the quill of the increasingly ubiquitous Owen Pallett.

Whilst this is ostensibly a collaborative project, it’s difficult not to see Turner as the dominant creative force, even if that might be doing Kane something of a disservice. The pair frequently sing in unison, and whilst Kane’s voice sometimes distinguishes itself through a more pronounced rasp, the phrasing and language are characteristic of Turner’s wit and wisdom. It is also his exaggerated Sheffield snarl that rings through much more memorably. These songs contain familiar dissections of the malevolence of various femmes fatales, all set to an appropriately cinematic musical backdrop.

Some of the tracks are taken at a rollicking gallop. The title track and ‘Only The Truth’ are impassioned and enervating blasts of thickly arranged drama. There’s also genuine guile and candour in these songs as well, so much so that they don’t sound out of place next to the more reflective moments such as ‘The Chamber’ and ‘My Mistakes Were Made For You’. The latter may well be the best piece of music Turner has yet been involved with, a real kitchen sink epic of tremendous charm. This is not least down to its central lyric – ‘innocence and arrogance entwined….in the filthiest of minds’, a quite superb juxtaposition of words. Similarly, the brilliant ‘Calm Like You’ rides in on the most compelling of opening lines: ‘I can remember when your city still smelt exciting/Burglary and fireworks, the skies were all alight.’ This sounds more interesting to my ears than the Monkeys’ tendency to imbue the mundane with poetry.

Whilst Walker’s interpretations of Jacques Brel might be the clearest reference point, there are also hints of the endearing combination of grandiosity and vulnerability found in the work of Bill Fay. Of contemporary acts, this most closely resembles the best work of Mick and John Head with Shack and The Strands.

Kane and Turner seem completely unafraid of extravagant gestures here. Perhaps the novelty value therefore comes from hearing Turner attempt something approaching camp. Perhaps one of the limiting factors in the appeal of the Arctic Monkeys for me is that they play everything so completely straight in all senses, and there’s rarely any concession to playfulness in spite of their obvious insight and humour. A lot of the material here will challenge the more boorish element of the Monkeys fanbase. The theatricality of these more translucent but no less incisive lyrics set against the spaghetti western twang of the music is exciting in itself.

If The Last Shadow Puppets serve as a gateway for young audiences to investigate some of their reference points in more detail – Scott Walker, early David Bowie, the work of David Axelrod both with the Electric Prunes and as a composer in his own right, this can only be a good thing. Yet there’s plenty of intrinsic value to be found within the record itself – Turner perhaps blunting his razor sharp observational wit with something warm and endearing.