The Wild boys are here to annihilate pop (Captain - Idlewild)

Member Name: wicked_witch

Product:	Captain - Idlewild
Date:	10/02/03 (313 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: relevant as f**k, vicious yet intelligent, Will definitely piss the neighbours off

Disadvantages: A bit of vocal stupidity, earache when played at loud volumes, Will definitely piss the neighbours off

F**k the Manics. You want a tsunami, look no further!

Woohoo! Dooyoo has finally taken note of my suggestion and added Idlewild’s first, and arguably, best release. I’m undecided. I think The Remote Part is equally as brilliant.

In case you aren’t familiar with them, Idlewild are one of the NME’s latest darlings. Do not let that put you off. They beat the pink panties off girly-boy ponce-rockers like the Strokes, and hammer the s**t out of Meg White with her own drumsticks. They are a Scottish band, who at this point in their career consisted of gorgeous guitarist Rod Jones, mad drummer Colin Newton, madder bassist Bob Fairfoull (recently replaced by the actually very foxy Gavin Fox) and the gorgeous brainy one, singer Roddy Woomble. Who, in this album, squeals more than he sings.

Those of you who are familiar with the beautiful Roddy and co. from the sugar-schmaltz rock of “You held the world in your arms”, or the delicate delight of “American English” are going to be bloody shocked when you get your hands on this. If modern manufactured pop is the forest, “Captain” is the napalm. Its raw, rough-edged, under-produced, dynamic, violent, beautiful and pretty damned awesome.

Its primal, powerful and the reason I fell in love with Idlewild in the first place. It mixes chunky Nirvana-type riffs with Black Flag and Sonic Youth type power, and contains some of the weird, stop-start-stop-start delights of the Pixies, and has a similar (if slightly lesser, there’s no singing in foreign languages) sense of scatterbrained, insane perfection. Ha, not comparing them to REM this time, am I? The best thing about all this is this band can nick elements from everyone from Morrissey to Soundgarden, mix it all up and come out with something totally fresh. Of course, if you read the book “Black Vinyl, White Powder” (or if you have a sprinkling of commonsense, which I d
on’t) you will realise there is no such thing as a totally original song, but Idlewild certainly add something new to the mix. Its rock with brains. Perhaps the riffs might sound a little familiar, what with them being more than faintly reminiscent of Nirvana, but the lyrics, vocals and arrangements turn them into something else entirely, and of course Roddy and Kurt are two entirely different types of genius (or was in one case).

Roddy spits and snarls vitriol and intelligence, rhetoric and accusations, and the band say more in six short art-punk songs than most albums can say in an entire album. It’s a mini album to blow most full-length debuts out of the water. There isn’t a bad track on it, and from the amphetamine roar of “Last Night I Missed All the Fireworks” to the bouncy punk-pop potential of “Annihilate Now” it is a true victory for Idlewild. Taken in the context of today, its not only a big middle finger to weeny-pop boybands and the paedophile fodder dross that is getting churned out (Tatu and Sclub Juniors come to mind), its also a big finger to the wannabe punk and metal kids who listen to Blink 182 and have never heard of true punk bands like the Clash, and think Avril Lavigne is the ultimate punk goddess because they clearly have yet to hear of Karen O. Of course it was released in ’98. So it’s probably a big middle finger to something else entirely. Perhaps the entire world.

If I have one minor gripe concerning this album, it’s that Roddys vocal style in this mini album doesn’t really reflect his talent. True, although he does not have the biggest of vocal ranges, he has extremely dulcet tones (which are unique in that his accent comes out strongly), in his own comically low-pitched, almost Moz-like way, when he puts his pretty head to it. In this however, all we get is screaming, howling, yelping, droning and a pseudo-Americanised punk snarl, which sounds even more
pretentious than some of his “Remote Part” lyrics appear to some. Sometimes you can even hear how strained and put-on it is. This forced quality perhaps points out that Roddy indeed was never so comfortable with the old punk sound as the others were. But, one flaw does not a masterpiece destroy, and of course the song stylings tend to invite that type of “Singing”. So here are my thoughts on “Captain”.

Self Healer- Self Healer, on first listen, sounds like someone having a screaming fit and throwing a guitar around a garage. On second listen, it sounds like a very intelligent person having a screaming fit and throwing a guitar around a garage. Everything about this song is explosive and attention demanding. The piston-like drumming thunders under thrashy guitars with Roddy’s voice howling one of my favourite Idlewild lyrics “A song is a beautiful lie”, which I think is the single lyric line which sums up early Idlewild in a nutshell. Its signature riff holds pop elements, yet screams punk, and still manages to retain an edge of intelligence. The song culminates with Roddy howling like he’s just been shot, then finishes at the end in a sort of musical collapse due to exhaustion. A powerful introduction to a powerful experience in under two minutes. Much like losing your virginity ;-).

Annihilate Now- In contrast to Self Healer; this is a fairly pop-friendly type song with a bounce-along rhythm and a perfectly simple shout-it-out chorus, whose lyrics belie its deeper meaning. Alone on this album, it holds a prophecy for what Idlewild will become, an incredibly intelligent indie band almost bordering on pop, if only for its commercial success. It sounds more like it would belong on their third album, 100 Broken Windows, than this one, but it does provide a welcome interlude from all the rabid power of the other songs. The guitar sounds delightfully soft in the verses, and turns into a grindin
g, dirty-sounding affair for the chorus. The vocals are of the rambling and train-of-consciousness type, building up to a perfect festival chorus (Which consist of “Annihilate Now” yelled over and over). Definitely a gig-fave, but not so much my favourite to listen to in the house, I think Idlewild have done better, but they have also done worse. I think this one may have benefited most from a more natural vocal style. Its probably a song, if it were to be released in today’s market, what with the invasion of the “The” bands in the charts, that would do pretty well, yet it still sounds quirky and intelligent.

Captain- a firm favourite of mine. It has a nice funky drum rhythm and riffs chunky enough to spread with jam on toast (Um, in other words, like chunky peanut butter). Roddy alternately drones and howls in his beautiful manner. OK, it actually sounds rather like a cat being tortured, but in a good way ;-). He also mumbles his way through a few lines, sounding like he’s figuring out a particularly taxing puzzle. Again, a quiet, skewed and gritty guitar rhythm accompanies the verses, which are again deceptively deep (yes, you stupid ‘Wild-worshipping mosh-pit puppies, listen to the damned words and then go back to your Slipknot CDs. Did I just alienate half of Dooyoo?). This one sounds rather like Roddy taking the Michael, but it can often be pretty hard to figure what’s going on inside that lovely indieboy head. So just take my word for it- even if you have not a clue what’s going on in his head, its still a great song to jump around to.

Last Night I Missed all the Fireworks- Jesus christo. If Self Healer ends in an exhausted collapse, then Last Night I Missed All the Fireworks is a schizo imagining a man in a giant bunny rabbit costume telling him to burn down buildings and figure out time travel (name that reference. Easy as pie). In other words, it’s insane, and another favourite, w
hich unfortunately Idlewild don’t seem to want to play live any more. It opens with a twangy little guitar tune and launches into a full-on aural assault. It has a totally thunderous, infectious atmosphere to it, and despite its very heavy feel, it is catchier than a barrel-load of S-Club Juniors with glandular fever. It starts quickly, ends quickly and the first time you hear it it leaves you thinking, “What the hell just happened?” This is the song that used to see Idlewild throwing themselves around the stage like Craig Nicholls, and that caused moshpits for fans everywhere. It’s probably the pick of a fantastic crop on this album. Go on. I dare you not to love it.

Satan Polaroid-This one opens sensibly enough, with a sweet guitar and a nice ticking rhythm. Even Roddy’s vocals and lyrics seem fairly straightforward, until it descends into yet more alternative rock madness, with short shrieks, call-and-answer lyrics, and beautifully arranged canon vocals. Overall, as early Idlewild go, this is a fairly pop-friendly song, despite the deliberately droning punky vocals (he does have a beautiful voice honest). I’m not sure what importance the title holds, but this one places an emphasis on loneliness. In a bizarre way, not an oh-woe-is-me type way. Another great thing about Idlewild. They can take an old formula and change it around in ways no one else thought of. This one is very under-rated I think, and is yet another flawless track on a damned near flawless album.

You Just Have to Be Who You Are- Its like the Scottish “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”. Recorded in a garage in central Scotland with lots and lots of joints being passed around of course. It opens with one of the lads demanding, “Do another one then”, then the song starts in a low-key, downbeat manner and adds in an ominous sounding beat. Add more pseudo-tone-deaf murmuring and a powerful build up to a crashing, sho
rt chorus. The whole atmosphere is gloomy and menacing, “there is not room for voyeurs, there’s only room for disaster” which is offset by chaotic, buzzing, garagey guitars, and accusations of selling out. It culminates in a soaring and swooping feedbacky-guitar, and spoken vocals voiced under screaming ones. It’s a bizarre and suitably memorable finish to a tremendous album, which finishes by asking “who are really my, really my, really my friends?” How apt.

One of the great beauties of this album is despite its similarities in tracks; it demonstrates so many different things in each similar song structure. Roddy can think like a troubled poet, a drunken lout, or an intelligent student (yes, we students can be intelligent). He can write song structures as intriguing and downright bizarre as Black Francis’s, tunes as powerful as Nirvana’s, and has an ability to communicate depressing things in an upbeat way (Moz uses humour, Roddy uses melodies.) Ignore anyone who tells you this has none of the depth of the later albums. It doesn't have the same clarity perhaps, but this is replaced by the ability of these gritty songs to stick in your head. In other words, no they AREN'T Greenday with table manners. A tremendous mini-album with none of the variations and digressions of the later albums, it has one sole purpose. Find pop. Hurt pop. Kill pop.

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