Dead Like Harry are obviously and unabashedly a band that believes in the
regenerative and life-affirming nature of positive music and turn this
feeling of optimism into a joyous concoction of pop, folk and good ol’
rock and roll that reaches for the back of metaphorical (at least for the
time being) stadiums and causes involuntary arm waving and singing along.
This album is made up of big songs that should be sung in large groups, in
sweaty pubs, in festival settings, in love. This CD reminded me that once,
U2 was a good and affecting band, and that Coldplay, despite its MOR
nature, can still hit you emotionally in good ways, and that the 1970s had
some amazing music outside of punk and disco. Sure, it’s effusive praise,
but worthy of a band this charming and enthusiastic in its simple aim to
entertain. And what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with anthems and
wear-it-on-your-sleeve directness? Rock and roll should be fun and
emotional and make you want to punch the air and cry and laugh and hug and
believe and this CD does that.
First things first, the album SOUNDS good, with producer Alan Smyth (who’s
produced the Arctic Monkeys, Pulp and nearly every other band to ever pass
through the Steel City) knowing which instruments to highlight and when,
and how to maximise the impact of what the band is trying to do. A wide
range of instrumentation is used well throughout, providing depth and
fullness to the sound, without any one instrument muscling the others out.
Main vocalists Sam Taylor and Alice Faraday have a nice, easy chemistry,
and their voices complement each other well. Taylor has a pleasant,
slightly husky tenor that can be vulnerable or hard edged or even playful,
depending on the song. Faraday has a strong, confident and soulful voice
that works well in duet with Taylor and puts her own stamp on songs where
she takes the lead. The rhythm section is solid, and Matt Taylor adds some
unexpected and welcome instrumental flourishes to the songs.
The album starts off on an amazing high with the song Streets, which gives
me shivers every time I hear its cascading guitar riff, causing an
involuntary and slightly goofy smile to spread on my face at the simple
happiness radiating throughout the tune. I Couldn’t Love You Anymore,
Sarah and When We Were 17 continue on this carefree route, with their
catchy choruses providing a good soundtrack to a sunny summer drive (in a
large convertible, in the 1970s [preferably]). Meanwhile, songs like
You’re Not Alone, Driving to Nowhere and What a Bloody Shame take on a
slightly more contemplative hue. You’re Not Alone does so with pounding
inspiration, Driving to Nowhere is an intimate little moment made stronger
through its stripped-back arrangement, and What a Bloody Shame starts out
as spare confessional before bursting into a country-tinged chorus as big
as the sky. Satellite cuts nicely between their thoughtful and fun sides,
evoking life-earned joy and an underlying sense of longing for something
more. They end the album on the great one-two punch of Cross the Water and
Cherry Street. Cross the Water has a grandiose feeling to it, acting as a
powerful climax to the album (despite being the penultimate track), marked
with chimes and a crescendo into an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink
ending. Cherry Street acts as a suitable denouement, leaving you with the
inescapable and welcome feeling that, indeed, everything might be fine
with the world after all. Yes indeed, it’s the healing power of some good
ol’ optimistic rock and roll.
I really do like this album, even if it does wear its emotions (and
inspirations) on its sleeve. It doesn’t necessarily break any new ground,
but why should music always be innovative? It combines its musical
references in new ways and puts its own wonderfully innocent but honest
stamp on it. I blame Britney or the Backstreet Boys or MTV or those damn
kids or something, but somewhere along the way, ‘pop music’ became a
derogatory term, and this is not a good thing. There’s nothing wrong with
a catchy song, and even dyed-in-the-wool music snobs such as myself can’t
constantly listen to deliberately obscurantist (and often annoying) indie
all day. There’s nothing wrong with challenging or difficult music, but
there’s also nothing wrong with music as an evocation of escapism and
happiness, and Dead Like Harry provide that in spades. That being said,
the album at times rests a bit too much on these contented feelings, with
unchallenging lyrics that most often deal with the stock rock and roll
issues of relationships, driving and freedom, or some literal and/or
metaphorical combination of these ideas. The album as a whole has a fairly
singular motif and sound, which acts as both a positive and negative. On
the plus side, the album holds together exceptionally well, begging to be
played from beginning to end, a real treat in the age of single-serving
media. On the downside, this consistency hides the harder edge that Dead
Like Harry can trot out on occasion (like on their single Fight),
providing a bit of darkness behind the steady light of most of their
songs. These reservations should be taken in stride though, as I’ve been
listening to this album persistently over the last week (and some of these
songs for much longer, from their singles). I really hope this album gives
the band the recognition they deserve. Although the album is not yet
available, their singles are available through their website or through
iTunes, they’ll be through Glasgow, St. Andrews and Newcastle in late
October, and have a hometown gig lined up at the Library Theatre in
Sheffield just before Christmas.