The very tips of my fingers are tingling – New Wave is that good.
Over-excited people will tell you anything. For
instance, they will tell you about an album where every song is so brilliant
that you can’t pick a favourite. A seedless watermelon, a congregation of
perfect Christians. I’ve rarely felt that way. Even on a record as blindingly
perfect as Paris 1919, I find the
slightly stronger title track and the slightly weaker “Macbeth”. You always
choose sides. Highway 61 Revisited is
fantastic, but isn’t “From A Buick 6” not quite on a par? The Dreaming is a masterpiece, but “Leave It Open” is from a
different planet altogether. Etc., etc.
However, this time I just don’t know. New Wave is where I’m ready to wrap a
blindfold around my face and throw a dart into space. Wherever it lands. The
incredible tacet in “Show Girl”? The infectious riff of “Idiot Brother”? The
intriguing minimalism of “Home Again”? I will accept anything.
There was nothing to improve and nowhere to grow for
The Auteurs. Luke Haines arrived frustrated, annoying, cynical and fully equipped
with some of the best tunes outside those written by Forster and McLennan.
There’s a line in one of his more recent songs, “21st Century Man”
from 2009: “What do you do when you made your masterpiece? That’s what I did in
the 90’s…”. It was not about Baader
Meinhof and it was not about After Murder Park. It was about New Wave, The Auteurs’ debut album.
1993. The year that didn’t yet care for Britpop or
know what it was. The year that saw Haines bitter and confused about narrowly
missing out on The Mercury Prize (lost by one vote to Suede). That’s the
closest the man has ever come to recognition. I’d compare the trajectory to
that of Martin Amis in English literature. Somerset Maugham Award for The Rachel Papers, then long years of
noble and partly self-imposed oblivion.
Stylistically, I’d say Robert Christgau offers an
interesting reference point: Pet Shop Boys as a guitar band. It’s tricky and
could paint a vulgar picture in a certain uncultivated mind (yes, we absolutely
have to bring Morrissey into this), but it is also rather accurate. Or maybe
it’s a bit like a cross between Pet Shop Boys and The Go-Betweens? Lush, witty,
intelligent, charismatic, somehow unique. The 12 songs that make up New Wave are all distinct, fully-fledged
creations that nevertheless flow seamlessly into each other. Lyrics full of
poetry and precision. And Haines’ voice, registered halfway between hushed
spite and snotty tenderness, loving to do that irresistible ‘chh/ahh’ sound
that Pink Floyd did in “Matilda Mother”. Good musicianship, too, but the
Cellist has not yet fully arrived, so it’s guitars, guitars, and more guitars.
And occasional piano, so clever in the chorus of “Bail Out” and so delicate in
the verses of “Junk Shop Clothes”.
New Wave
is a masterclass in articulate songwriting. The tunefulness is truly staggering
and, quite honestly, it puts everyone else to shame. Also, while Luke Haines
had his style from the off, he certainly knew how to make this stuff varied
enough to guarantee smooth listening experience. After the relatively heavy
“American Guitars”, there will always be the gentle, acoustic “Junk Shop
Clothes”. You’ll be fine.
It’s The Auteurs’ album, but it really is the brainchild
of only one man. His personality fills this album like hot water fills a bathtub
with a plug firmly in place. And the personality has proved to be so strong,
talent so great that it was enough for a few more Auteurs albums, Black Box
Recorder, solo years and an array of left-field side projects. New Wave, however, remains what it is:
Luke Haines’ masterpiece. “I was all over the 90’s, I was all over in the 90’s”.
Thankfully for all good people with taste, not really true.
P.S. Also, this review is not entirely irrelevant.
Earlier this year, New Wave has been
reissued with a number of bonus tracks and alternative cuts. They are
absolutely indispensable if you are a fan of the style. And with the style this appealing, I can’t
see why you shouldn’t be. Here’s a man who thought “Wedding Day” wasn’t good
enough for an album. Here’s a man who made “Subculture” a hidden track. Listen to it, and tell me where it leaves all the claptrap that arrived one year
later.
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