FIN DE SIECLE
by
THE DIVINE COMEDY
There is a little-known Euro directive recently passed through Brussels that states that every band is contractually obliged to release a "pre-millenial" LP
before midnight 31st December 1999. Radiohead, Pulp and the Manics have been
quickest off the mark, whereas others all have plans in the pipeline. Expect "Oh Fuck, We're All Doomed" from Steps any day now...
"Fin De Siecle" is The Divine Comedy's attempt to comply with the legislation. An LP full of doomed romanticism is what you would expect Neil Hannon and his cohorts to come up with, and that is pretty much what you get - but with such a degree of style and panache that the record leaves you at least as moved and staggered as other more weighty offerings from what you might think are more "serious" artists. And the style - all strings, accordians and orchestral touches - is so refreshingly original after the guitar histrionics of others, that it might just rise to the top of your playlist.
Recent single "Generation Sex" opens things, with its attack on modern-day lowest common denominator Loaded culture and superficial morals, with acerbic and cynically wry lyrics ("Generation sex injects the sperm of worms into the eggs of field mice, so you can look real nice for the boys"). All wrapped up in a big n bouncy tune, it opens the curtains on the Divine Comedy's stage in style. Next to strut into the spotlight is "Thrillseeker", a witty look into pleasure taken to extremes with a huge chorus that Faith No More would pay good money for. Both these songs are - musically at least - upbeat and perky: time now for some serious PMT (Pre-Millenial Tension).
"Commuter Love" is one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful songs I have heard this year. Accordian and keyboard-led, its muted chords and tones drift moodily around Hannon's tale of observing a fellow commuter on the train, falling in love with her, but not wishing to approach her through fear of rejection ("She doesn't know I exist, I'm gonna keep it like this, I'm not gonna take any risks this time"). The angst-ridden romanticism of the poet may not be the trendiest of genres, but what the hell - when done with the chillingly disappointed style shown here, it certainly wins me over.
The infamous "Sweden" (Hannon accused of right-wing fascist tendencies over the lyric "tall and strong and blonde and blue eyed, pure and healthy, very wealthy", when he is merely using Sweden and Swedes as an example of the Great British "grass is always greener" outlook), bursts out of the speakers next, with its operatic bombast and sheer epic scale. Whereas other bands still think hiring a string section constitutes originality, The Divine Comedy are miles ahead, resurrecting Wagner and getting him to conduct a gloroiusly camp and OTT stomp all over the song's theme of underambition. Immense.
Human mortality is explored at the LP's midpoint by the mellow and soft "Eric The Gardener", a gentle track that hides deep feelings of futility and despair. Even when dealing with subjects like this however, Hannon can't resist the temptation to inject a little wit into proceedings, as lyrics such as "Julius Caesar came, saw, conquered and went away, cause it rained here all the time" prove. Whereas other bands might make heavy-handed work of such humour, The Divine Comedy carry it off with style, and it adds yet another string to their already impressive bow. "National Express" is next, and is a little incongrous given the rest of the LP's theme. It's Carry On Coaching-style romp through the ghastly world of inter-city bus travel is high-spirited and fun, but sits a little uneasily with "Eric The Gardener" on one side and "Life On Earth" on the other. However, it does serve as a knees-up light relief interlude at least, and has one of those choruses that moves into your head and claims squatters' rights.
"Life On Earth" on the other hand continues the themes of pointlessness and fleeting joy. "This life owes nobody happiness, only pain and sorrow" is a lyric that the Manics would sit happily with, and here it is used to run through a sad-tinged and jaded lament for being human; the most serious song on the LP and one of the best. "The Certainty Of Chance" completes the trio of existential and intelligent angst anthems, with a paean to chaos theory and anxiety for the future - "the world will be wonderful, but from whose viewpoint?". A Las Vegas lounge big band number, it is both cheesy and delicate at the same time and gently drifts you off into a false sense of security, caressing you with seductive strings before reminding you of your own mortality. Powerful stuff.
"Here Comes The Flood" sees Hannon's tongue return firmly to his cheek. A soundtrack to an "Armageddon - The Musical" 1950s style movie, it features cinematic chords, a Greek chorus and Dexter Fletcher narrating a monologue about the end of the world. Although essentially dealing with the same themes as the more serious songs, its style of execution is quite a release after those that came before.
"Here Comes The Flood" is thematically the end of "Fin De Siecle", with its Cecil B DeMille special effects and theatrical dramatics, putting a witty and unequivocable full stop on things. "Sunrise" remains however, and is Hannon's heartfelt and optimistic hymn to the Irish peace process. An orchestral torch-song, it is moving and uplifting and by the end you are sharing his hope that there is at last "an end to thirty years of night". Political, yet personal, it has style and humility, unlike the unsubtle material dealing with the same subject by the likes of U2. So, unexepectedly, the LP ends on a high note.
"Fin De Siecle" is a superb record. Whether it is because its style is so refreshing in today's musical climate, or whether it is because of Hannon's lyrical wit and charisma, it is perhaps the best of the "millenial" LPs to yet appear. It is certainly the first to acknowledge and capture the romance of possible extinction, as well as the despair, and - if things do start going a bit wonky on 31/12/1999 - is the record that you should be playing as they do.
