FRANZ FERDINAND

You Could Have It So Much Better… with Franz Ferdinand

Domino

Blender

by Simon Reynolds

In an early short story by Ian McEwan, a female novelist struggles to follow up her acclaimed, best-selling debut. The psychologically macabre twist in the tale comes when it’s revealed that the manuscript she’s been toiling over for months is actually a painstakingly typed-out, word-for-word reiteration of the first book. Now, You Could Have It So Much Better is far from a note-for-note duplicate of Franz Ferdinand. Still, for a band dedicated to the resurrection of arty pop, there are surprisingly few risks taken on their sophomore album. It used to be a matter of honor for art-rockers to make giant leaps with each successive record. But on You Could Have, the attitude seems to have been “let’s not mess with a winning formula, lads, shall we?”

As formulas go, it’s a winsome one: brittle white-boy funk topped by Alex Kapranos’ suavely crooned vocals and witty, sexually piquant lyrics. Franz are master exponents of that distinctly British forte for using abrasive guitars in a way that feels pop rather than rock. And they’re equally adept at that other Britpop ploy whereby fey young men seduce the girls in the audience by acting like they’re really more interested in boys.  Last time, it was the bisexual epiphany of “Michael”;  this time, it’s the homo-erotic ardor of “This Boy” and the saucy boast “your famous friend/well I blew him before you” in “Do You Want To.”  A glorious, gleeful romp jam-packed with quotables, that song is the album’s strongest stab in Franz’s  main mode of  oddly fussy, flustered discopunk, closely followed by “The Fallen” and “I’m Your Villain” (one section of which actually recycles the riff from “Take Me Out”). In a rockier vein, “Evil And A Heathen” stomps like Iggy Pop circa Lust For Life. But You Could Have’s only real departure is “Fade Together,” a piano ballad whose ebbing waltz-time  rhythm gorgeously matches the langorous nihilism of the lyric, which could be about a suicide pact, or sharing a needle, but either way is alluring and disturbing in equal measure.

“Fade” is far and away the best thing on the record, in large part because it’s the least Franz Ferdinand-like. The song makes you wonder what this group could achieve if they actually pushed themselves, and the envelope, a wee bit, in the spirit of the art-rock ancestors--Roxy, Bowie, Wire, Gang of Four, Josef K--they either invoke or echo sonically.  Art-into-pop should be about vision and ambition, over-reach and the possibility of falling flat on your face. It shouldn’t just entail spicing up indie plain fare with a smidgeon of androgyny and a pinch of pretension. So here’s hoping for a torturously difficult third album. 

                                                                                             

FRANZ FERDINAND
You Could Have It So Much Better... with Franz Ferdinand
Domino
Blender (different mix)

by Simon Reynolds

The paradox of Franz Ferdinand’s second album is that the best thing on it is the least Franz Ferdinand-like. Instead of the band’s trademark mode of flustered discopunk, “Fade Together” is a gorgeously torpid piano ballad, whose ebbing waltz-time rhythm matches the langorous nihilism of the lyric (which could be about a suicide pact, or sharing a needle, but either way is equally alluring and disturbing). Elsewhere on the album, though,  Franz’s attitude seems to have been "och, let's not mess with a winning formula, shall we lads?" 

Then again, why not, when the formula--gawky whiteboy funk topped by Alex Kapranos’ suave croon-- is so winsome?   Franz Ferdinand either delightfully resurrect Orange Juice (if you’re ancient enough to remember that early Eighties Scottish band) or feel as revitalizing as a glass of freshly squeezed OJ (if you’re young enough to neither know nor care). They’re the latest in a long lineage of British bands who use scratchy guitars in a way that somehow feels pop rather than rock,  fronted by fey young men who seduce girls by making like they’re more interested in boys. Last time, it was the bisexual epiphany of "Michael"; this time, it's the homoerotic ardor of "This Boy" and the saucy boast "your famous friend/well I blew him before you" in “Do You Want To”. A glorious, gleeful romp jam-packed with quotables, that song is this album’s “Take Me Out” (whose riff actually gets recycled on another killer tune, “I’m Your Villain”). In a rockier vein, "Evil And A Heathen" stomps like Iggy Pop circa Lust For Life.

Contrast Franz with the plain fare that passes for Britrock nowadays--the steady drizzle of rhythmically inert  post-Coldplay mope--and the piquant appeal of the group’s funked-up grooves, dandy verve, and mischievous wit is easy to understand. But when you compare Franz with the art-rock ancestors they invoke or echo--Roxy, Bowie, Wire, Talking Heads--their achievement seems more modest. With that breed, it was a matter of honor to attempt a giant leap on each successive album. Apart from “Fade Together,” Franz’s second effort shies away from such challenges. It’ll do just fine for now. But here’s hoping for a torturously difficult third album.