With eyebrows arched and pop culture lampooned, the 26th album from the LA Mael brothers is almost business as usual. Kinda, but not at all vintage Sparks. It starts off strongly with the title track, a buzzing, twitchy, Suicide-at-the-opera slice of electro-pop exploring the dissatisfaction gnawing away in our café society. But despite some gems, it loses its way. Not That Well Defined is full of grandeur and gypsy violins, sitting well astride Russell’s glorious spiteful croon, and the Giallo Goblin prog tingle of Take Me For A Ride is a surprising bit of menace. The problem is that the album is often hampered by some lazy lyrics, and the sense that they’ve somewhat overstretched themselves here. There are too many tracks for a start, and at least six could have been cut. Take the woeful Escalator. A woman is going up as he’s going down (steady, now) so they never quite meet – a bit like James Blunt’s unspeakable hit. The backing keyboard sound is like Partridge stuck in his conference room, Casio stuck on mid-tempo setting.
Then, there’s Veronica Lake. They’re finally homaging Pet Shop Boys, which is strange, given they pre-dated and influenced them. But it was perhaps inevitable they’d come full circle. And We Go Dancing satirises despotism and subjugation through the prism of Djing and dancefloor apathy. Wow, edgy.
It’s all a bit awkward really. The band undeniably sound great, with more pep and energy than many half their age. Russell’s voice is still extraordinary. But it feels like they’re just treading water, like they dashed it off during their coffee break. Skinny latte, half fat, when I wanted some full cream. Meh.