The first time I ever heard Phoenix, it was Spring 2002, and I was coming back from an all-night party outside of Boston. I had scored a ride back into town thanks to a friend who knew the band that played that night, and we squeezed into the back of the BMW with their gear. It was 5 a.m. when we left, starving, and stopped at McDonalds for some breakfast sandwiches. As we raced back toward the city, the sun began to rise over the Charles River, and the driver turned on the stereo, whence the first notes of Phoenix's "If I Ever feel Better" trickled out. The beat started thumping; he pumped up the volume to full blast. One of the catchiest songs of the past 10 years [seriously, click on that link!] oozed out of the speakers. I munched on my Egg McMuffin, crammed in between to amps and a bass guitar, let the wind blow through the open window, and took it all in.
It's a romantic memory, yes. But that's what Phoenix was built for. Their European electro-pop-rock sound is like some type of scientifically engineered emotional response generator. Set the dial to nostalgia! Crank up the pining! Tweak the sadness! More hipster! Less human emotion! It's Alive!!
But it’s 2009 and things have changed. I’m older for one; no longer finding myself in cars in racing through the suburbs at 5 in the morning. We've grown more closed in, I think, as I come home and settle in to dig in to Phoenix’s new Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix. I have said it before and I'll say it again: one of the coolest album titles in recent memory. Cover art not bad either:
As the first notes of the opening track Lisztomania play, I am inexplicably compelled to open the door, and next the shades; opening up the apartment to let the fresh air and light into this cave. The beat pumps, and polished, dancy guitars and bass bounce over the pulsing of the drum samples—I can see the dust lifting off my things with every drumkick. The music is expansive—it immediately fills my apartment, and Thomas Mars’ voice cries out over the catchy swell: “So sentimental/ Not sentimental, no!/ Romantic not disgusting yet/ Darling I’m down and I’m lonely/ When with the fortunate only/ I’ve been looking for something else.”
It’s an exclamation—of protest, passion, and persuasion—as all Phoenix lyrics seem to be. They come in short bursts, often repeating themselves insistently, as if engineered to invade your brain and make you into an indie pop dance zombie (the best kind). Lisztomania is a call to arms—“Think less but see it grow/ Like a riot, like a riot, oh!/ I’m not easily offended/ it’s not hard to let it go/ from a mess to the masses.” The lyrics plead, like a bored lover insistent on existential awakening, and the music begs the same of the listener. It’s a beautiful expression of feeling, with true energy. Ultimately, it is pop music. But this is what pop music should be.
The listener has no time to recover from the disarming first track before they are hit with the bombastic synthesizers opening the second song; the clear-cut standout, “1901.” This is an interesting strategy in terms of album design, leading with two obvious singles up front. The last Phoenix album, the defensively titled It’s Never Been Like That followed a similar strategy but left the listener disappointed with several indistinguishable tracks and an unfocused back end of the album. In this case, the 1-2 punch is stunning. 1901 is a work of art. High-pitched keyboards alternate with big, warm synths that absorb the listener. Guitar and bass stake out the middle ground while the drum beat pulses indefatigably, like an engine pushing some top-notch race automobile.
Phoenix has had great singles before. I mentioned “If I ever Feel Better”; there was also "Long Distance Call" from the previous album. These gems are usually the core of the album. But something feels different here, in the music, in the lyrics, the sound. There’s a confidence pervading the approach, not just the product. “I’ll be anything you ask and more/ going hey hey hey hey…/ It’s not a miracle we needed/ you know I wouldn’t let you think so.” It’s as if Phoenix senses an opportunity--their time--and are stepping forward to seize it. "1901" also explicitly states the setting implied elsewhere on the album: Summer. “it’s twenty seconds till the last call/ you’re going hey hey hey…/ lie down you know it’s easy/ like we did it all summer long.” I’ve spoken on this blog before on the convergence of seasons and music, and here it is.
The stellar “1901” is followed up by the slick, dancy “Fences” which seems to consciously reign itself in from the explosive poppyness of the leadoff songs. Then the album retreats subtly into a mostly-instrumental that spans two tracks, on “Love Like a Sunset.” Not only are the two parts of this composition complex and catchy enough to engage the listener, but they serve as a strategic breakup of the album, and reveal a seriousness that wasn’t there on previous Phoenix efforts.
Refreshed by track 5, the listener is roped in—get it?—by “Lasso,” quite possibly the third best song on the album. In reality, it’s hard to say: on Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, the band has created a wall-to-wall solid effort that exemplifies what good pop rock should be. That’s not to say every song is superb. “Rome” sounds like a generic song Phoenix has done before, demonstrating the dangers that face a band so intimately tied to a specific sound. But for the most part, Phoenix has mastered the art of fine-tuning that trademark sound—crisply sampled beats, giant synthesizers, longing vocals—crafting it into something that does not wholly depart from what came before, but undeniably improves it.
In the process, Phoenix has laid a strong claim of musical rights to Summer 2009.
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