From the 7 Feb. 2004 NME:
Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand
It's the modest ones you've got to look out for. Franz Ferdinand's aim is to "make records that girls can dance to and to cut through postured crap". Oh really? After all, they sport art-school crops, stripey shirts and the moniker of the archduke whose assassination kickstarted the First World War. In short, last time we checked they weren't quite Jet. So Franz Ferdiand, then: posturing? Yes. Crap? Well, we'll get to that.
So they're smart enough to play a little dumb. And certainly this debut fulfills their modest - but laudable- aim of making girls gyrate. Because, without doubt, this debut is an album packed with tunes that will make anyone with legs dance. At indie discos across the land their first two singles have been packing dancefloors. So, in essence, we have the band equivalent of the smart kid who shoplifts to get popular, who plays down their IQ to fit in.
And why not? There's a great tradition of smart people at first confusing the world with the apparent simplicity of what they do: Iggy Pop, the Sex Pistols, even the Rolling Stones. Because the single theme of British music of the last decade makes us laugh as much as Metallica's dabblings in classical music and, of course, everything that comes out of Brian Molko's mouth. Who wouldn't want to avoid the trap of being seen to be clever-clever? After all, just look what happened to Blur.
Franz Ferdinand formed after meeting at Glasgow School of Art, so they're settled into a noble and inescapable tradition. The problem is that, despite their self-effacing aims, their records are informed and driven by this tradition. This may be sad for them, but it's great news for us. Because, however fantastically dancey or lose-yourself a track is, there remains at its core an intelligence that makes it as engaging for the brain as it is for the feet. From the guitar-dicing song arrangements to the anthemic end of 'Darts of Pleasure', at the heart of the Franz there's an innate need to subvert those tunes and reject cliche.
As critics have noted, even the crowd pleasing Top Three sounds they use owe themselves to the informed art-school political disco assault of early-'80s post-punkers Gang Of Four and Josef K. But where the post punkers' caustic tunes were hemmed in by politics and sloganeering, Franz Ferdiand cloak themselves in love and ambiguity.
Ideas slide in and out of view as they refuse to bet tied to anything. If there is one overriding theme it's that of structure. They've taken the tired grunge blueprint of quiet/loud/quiet/loud and breathed new life into it so that it becomes laconic/dance/laconic/dance.
For when they're not dancing, they're revelling in the detached passion of a voyeur. Alex Kapranos' attitudes are wrapped up in smudged passion. It's arch, but revealing. ("I want this fantastic passion/We'll have fantastic passion" he coldly chimes in 'Darts Of Pleasue'.) He's a lothario with mean intent and knows exactly which buttons to press. But you half expect that it's another pose: if actually confronted with heaving passion he'd run a mile. How very British. this teasing uncertainty lies at the heart of the album. 'Michael' may appear to be a frank exploration of homoeroticism ("Michael you're dancing like a beautiful dance whore"), but really Alex is just playing at sexual roles in the same way Morrissey did 20 years ago.
Alex has two clear voices: a rich, warm, croon that he employs to devastating effect throughout the laconic sections and a more straight-ahead rock voice. It's an unsettling effect- not quite Scott Walker playing vocal tag with a rock Bowie but not far off. It's another example of the bountiful contradictions at the heart of Franz Ferdinand. Of course, on 'Darts Of Pleasure' the two voices almost meld as they battle for supremacy - it's this struggle that makes the song so potent.
What makes this all the more extradordinary is that 'Take Me Out' is a typical record executive's idea of exactly what not to release as a single. It's essentially two songs spot-welded together like one of those Robin Reliant/BMW conjunctions that Watchdog always gets so annoyed about. Sadly, the more cautious radio presenters have elected to play just the second half, missing that this is an inspired coupling that showcases all Franz Ferdinand's strengths: staccato guitars, disco rhythms and arch lyrics.
The two diviations from the messy subject of sex bookend the album. The opener, 'Jacqueline', is dazzling. Alex murmurs a tale of 17-year-old office girl exchanging glances, as a guitar hesitantly strums. It's the most low-key opening in recent memory, but suddenly the insistent bass intrudes, absurdly spiky guitars burst in, the focus pulls back and the remainder of the song is an advert for being on the dole.
Alex sneers as though he hates work, but it's actually an OK compromise. More importantly, it's a compromise he's chosen: "It's always better on holiday/So much better on holiday/That's why we only work when/We need the money". Not quite a philosophy, but a pretty decent way of life.
Ironically, the closer, '40 Ft', with its veiled allusions to death, is the song that looks to the future. its ominous references to blood congealing and 40 feet remaining seem to be transparent references to suicide. The band claim it's more to do with flinging yourself into a difficult situation than off a railway bridge., but its detached delivery and fractured elegance is creepy and mesmerising.
Rarely for a debut, there's no crap - 'Cheating On You' is the closest to giving of the scent of "will this do?" but there is still pleasure aplenty in the way they race through the pointed chorus, as if the band member that finishes last is going to have to pick up the bar tab.
This album is the latest and most intoxicating example of the wonderful pushing its way up between the ugly slabs of Pop Idol, nu-metal and Britons aping American bands. What these blossoming bands have in common is the absolute conviction that rock'n'roll is more than a career option. They're bringing energy, inventiveness and a need to break the rules. From the Franz Ferdinand gigs at the Chateau and their bootleg live album through to The Libertines' constant guerrilla gigging and British Sea Power's onstage bear'n'branches antics new Britsih music is exciting again. And although it's early days there's a huge bunch of new bands coming up giving two fingers to The Man and making extraordinary music.
The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are finally fulfilling their promise, The Duke Spirit are whipping up dark pleasures, The Ordinary Boys are revitalising guitar power pop and there's a whole art rock scene based around the Angular Records compilation with Bloc Party and Art Brut leading the pack. Now is the greatest time in 25 years to form a band.
As Travis barely scraped the lower reaches of the singles chart, Franz Ferdinand breezed in nonchalantly at Number Three with 'Take Me Out' - the biggest upheaval since Pulp turned heads when 'Common People' went to Number Two in 1995. It marks the dawning of an era of British music that isn't just for the casual petrol shop consumer, but stuff so important that you can give yourself to it completely. This is the album that's going to kick open the door for all the great British bands that'll sweep through in their wake.
And this is a great place to start. Despite what Franz Ferdinand say, this is an album as much about preening and posing as passion, that'll have you poring over the lyrics for an age. The fear that they couldn't match their first two singles has proved unfounded. They've done it. With style, wit and excellent posture.
Anthony Thornton
9/10
On a personal note, usually I read the NME reviews with a grain of salt. Holy hell, last week they gave the Scissor Sisters a 9/10 too, and I can barely listen to that shit. But I think that Anthony Thornton is spot of with this review. The last third of the article speaks volumes of truth. I'm fortunate enough to have access to the new lot of young bands coming out of the UK, and in my humble opinion, they can equal the impact that the British bands had on America in the '60s and '70s (if given the exposure by the record companies and press). The Franz Ferdiand album comes out tomorrow (09/02/04). There's a limited edition that comes with a live bonus disc of a show recorded in Amsterdam).
BTW, happy belated birthday to Markie. You're getting up there with rotten bastards like Mankie and Yank. Spotted any grey hairs yet?
