No longer is Franz Ferdinand the sole property of Glasgow's skinny tie wearing indie elite. They are now a phenomenon. Actually, scratch that. They are a worldwide fucking phenomenon. This results in two things. Firstly, the anticipation surrounding their sophomore album, You Could Have it So Much Better, is massive. And secondly, I no longer look cool for being able to tell you who Franz Ferdinand (the person) was. So that's four years of university wasted then. Please imagine an unhappy yellow faced emoticon here. Thanks.
So things have undoubtedly changed for the boys of Franz Ferdinand; no longer are they just another art-rock band hanging around Glasgow's Stereo Bar and Optimo Club every Sunday night. But I'm sure there are a thousand and one interviews with them where they discuss all the changes in their lives, along with the obligatory insistence that they're "still down to earth lads." I care not. Hunt those out for yourselves.
Upon one listen to You Could Have it So Much Better, it's quite apparent that some things have certainly not changed in the last two years. They must still listen to Joseph K repeatedly. "Totally Wired" will undoubtedly still get them all on the dance floor. Gangs of Four pins are still attached to lapels of their retro blazers. Their influences, and comparisons, remain firmly rooted in late 70s/ early 80s post-punk, yet with a cleaned up sound beyond that of their debut.
The album begins with either "You're the Reason I'm Leaving" or "The Fallen", depending on whether you have the UK or American version. Either way, it's a fast bouncy start. The former is the better of the two, typical Franz Ferdinand: jumpy bass lines, fast and simple drumming and repetitive lyrics. I've certainly spent two minutes, forty-seven seconds listening to a lot worse things.
Continuing along the same lines is the first single, "Do You Want to", which is probably the most pop sounding song they've done thus far. Initially a little irritating, it doesn't possess the same immediate appeal of "Take Me Out", but it's a grower. Or perhaps I'm just used to it. Either way, it does have a little flicker of lyrical wit in between the continually repeated chorus, when Alex Kapranos breaks out the lines: "He's a friend and I knew him before you, oh yeah / well he's a friend and he's so proud of you / you're famous friend well I blew him before you, oh yeah!" I LOL'd.
The majority of the remaining songs are pretty similar with more hooks than something with rather a lot of hooks. Hmm, I seem to have run out of good comparisons. Would this be an appropriate, and oh so witty, way of suggesting Franz Ferdinand have run out of good ideas? If you think they ever had any in the first place. Well fuck it, I do. They have made some good pop tunes in the past, and similarly You Could Have it So Much Better equally contains a spattering of songs that are catchier than narcolepsy at a golfing tournament. "Michael" had it. "This Fire" had it. 'It' being that uncanny ability to get itself lodged in your cranium for weeks on end. Like a tumor, but more fun. Similarly, "Evil and a Heathen" has it and "This Boy" has it in excess. The latter is a wash of fast paced guitars, and while it's seems to be over before it begins, it's a great two minutes.
Not everything is peachy keen though. "Eleanor Put Your Boots Back On" smacks of mediocre Beatles worship, while 'Walk Away' is an attempt at lovelorn but has some truly cringe worthy lyrics: "I swapped my innocence for pride / Crushed the end within my stride / Said I'm strong now I know that I'm a leaver / I love the sound of you walking away, you walking away / Mascara bleeds a blackened tear, oh / And I am cold, yes, I'm cold / But not as cold as you are". A few others float by in a sea of forgettable jangly guitars and polished Orange Juice/ XTC worship. Blah.
Overall, they remain ten times better and distinctly less irritating that The Kaiser Chiefs, but I'd rather Franz Ferdinand just stuck to making music for poser art college kids to dance to rather than making music for girls to cry over.
