Bloc Party’s newest album ‘Anatomy Of A Brief Romance’ is the precise retelling of lead singer, Kele Okereke’s falling in and out of love. True to its title, there’s an almost scientific precision; the record feels dissected into several distinct narrative acts. Though, Bloc Party’s musical conviction wavers across the latest release; its anatomy falls into their pre-existing outline, a pattern of divisive experimentation that has rocked the band since their third album, 2009’s ‘Intimacy’. At times, their masterful legacy pierces through vapid, gauchely modernised tracks. As Bloc Party seem unsure how they wish to tell their story, their once charming experimentation leans toward tiring.
Twinkling backing and understated vocal-layering create a simplistic opening in ‘22.01.22’, as Okereke lets us in on his romance from the day it began. Diaristic lyricism is delivered in his signature half-spoken style; Okereke’s thick London accent is as much a Bloc Party member as any physical person.
At times, the record comes off like a slightly clumsy attempt to catch up to current culture, as opposed to honouring the band’s legacy on what Okereke named their “swan song” record. ‘Love Bombs’ in particular feels disappointingly heavy-handed, as an aging band drops adolescent slang amidst a jolting theatrical midsection; experimentation that used to make the band feel like a living, evolving thing now feels a little unnatural. Surprisingly, their collaboration with esteemed producer Trevor Horn falls slightly flat in comparison to his credits with the likes of Pet Shop Boys and Grace Jones. The band noted their use of synths, aiming to colour familiar favorites a little darker and scarier. Yet, it's debatable if all of ‘Anatomy’s production choices drew the thrill they sought, or just left listeners cold.
In particular, ‘Pigwig’ received harsh criticism as a single, particularly for amateurish lines that feel almost parodic, like "Everyday is such a vibe” and “My baby’s obsessed with podcasts”. Falling in the record’s lovesick chapter may absolve the track’s immaturity, though it doesn’t stop it from feeling out of place for such an esteemed legacy band. It’s ultimately frustrating when graced with passing touches of their renowned mastery, which deliver the poetic foreshadowing: “My baby’s obsessed with the coast in disarray/ He wants to see the concrete and decay/ Seems he’s happiest amongst the disrepair/ He’s in love with decay”.
However, ‘Coming on Strong’ offers respite. Russell Lissack, Bloc Party’s guitarist, carries the album in a blanket of twinkling riffs and tinny licks. They feel as much a tether within ‘Anatomy’ as throughout the band’s entire history.
As the album moves into its second act, where doubt first flickers into the narrative, the tracks contrarily begin to feel more certain. Echoing, atmospheric backing on the likes of ‘Lagoon Blue’ allows you to sink into a band sure of their identity. It gently ebbs and flows; a deft hand traces the anatomy of this singular song more than perhaps in the record as a whole. ‘Muscleworks’ follows with a woozy, whirling guitar track as the electronic backing shifts under us, rippled by creeping conspiracies and now-skillful production. These songs are a poignant standout, feeling exactly what an optimistic long-time fan would’ve dreamt up for a new Bloc Party album.
However, the following titles see further divergence, from conspiratorial ‘Clark Kent’ to the crooning laments on ‘Not Your Problem’. ‘Anatomy’ may be Bloc Party’s most dramatised record to date, its romance plays out as theatrically across the tracklist as it would atop a stage. Between these songs, ‘Worst Birthday Ever’ is particularly cruel and sniping, edged with rugged, biting guitar and tight, snapping drums. Though, as Okereke recounts the day his ‘Brief Romance’ fell apart with unforgiving precision, it’s unfortunately dulled by the album’s beginning; Throughout, ‘Anatomy’ wrestles with itself and the thick tide of amateurish, bordering frivolous tracks that ultimately missed the mark whilst setting its course.
Its grappling is, though, littered with perfect callbacks to some of their greatest vintage works. With ‘Moving On’s assured arpeggio, like the angsty atmosphere of ‘Rotherhithe’, the story’s emotional currency feels finally well spent. “In my mind I spin a snowstorm”; on ‘Rotherhithe’, the band orchestrates a masterful flurry as opposed to the album’s clumsier moments; Whilst ‘Stories’ is sonically sound, we’re prevented from enveloping into its magic by harsh references to Instagram stories, a modern touch that comes off as absurdist. Its jerky, unnatural vocal-chop styling may argue this as their very intention, but it doesn’t play in their favour in tandem with earlier misses; experimentation frequently translates as regrettable inconsistency.
Closing, ‘Eulogy’ plays its role with neat veracity. In terms of story, it leaves nothing to listeners. Bloc Party succeed in their theatrical dissection: The ‘Anatomy Of A Brief Romance’ on which narrative fortunately doesn’t spiral away from them in the same way musicality does.
Evie Johnson
Image: ‘Anatomy Of A Brief Romance’ Official Album Cover