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The music industry might well be in a state of paralysis when it
comes to releasing records, but this doesn't necessarily mean the
interest isn't there. Whilst the money's scarce and while most acts
sink or swim on the basis of their first album, on the other side of
the coin we're prompted with more music blogs than ever before, high
ticket sales, a renewed interest in merchandise, &C.
Any old cynic would jibe that Kaiser Chiefs' unique means of
releasing a record - they offered "fans" the chance to select their own
track listings and buy their own version of the album two weeks ahead of
release date - isn't a savvy response to the internet pirates,
that the actual purpose of the scheme (fans pay for 20 tracks, create
their own tracklist, most popular songs make up the fully-released
record) is a desperate attempt to renew interest in a band who sound
more dated than a BNP conference speech.
The songs making up The Future Is Medieval can hardly be picked
apart from older numbers in the group's back catalogue; the premise of
choosing which tracks feature might sound interesting and interactive
but it's a façade, a blocking device to prevent people from
acknowledging the lack of quality in the songs themselves. Not even
Radiohead could get away with this. The most important strength of an
album, the asset that makes it a more enjoyable experience than what a
pick'n'choose MP3 generation opt for, is its coherence, its natural
flow. Fans are choosing their favourite songs and the album is cobbled
together at the time of asking – any chance of getting the Kaiser
Chiefs' first coherent, well-structured album is thrown right into the
fire.
It begins well, however. Little Shocks' short, sharp bursts of
guitar offer something a little different. But the majority of what
follows is drawn-out and lacking in purpose. Choruses sound forced,
particularly on Dead Or In Serious Trouble and Long Way From
Celebrating. Occasional experimental dabbling occurs during Man on
Mars' psych-rock, sedated feel and Starts With Nothing's bold attempt
at pop music – more Pet Shop Boys than circa-2005's Britpop
rejuvenation. But at 13 tracks long and with no centrepiece, no
adjoining theme, no recurring elements, it is a half-arsed throwing
together of songs, joining arms to provide a 50-minute-long spell of
drudgery.
Ricky Wilson and co. might have sensed an opportunity, and in some
quarters at the very least the fan-choice scheme raised eyebrows and a
scrupulous debate between converts and cynics. But here's the core
problem. Observing the band's 2011 Glastonbury set, you notice that
for each new song played within the set, there is barely a tap of the
feet. This might not seem unusual for a record barely at walking stage
but the album has been released in such a way that the vast majority
of potential listeners don't know what's going on and aren't even
aware of a new album being shelved in the shops. Choosing a tracklist
is the kind of passionate experience bands can end up splitting up
over. Kaiser Chiefs have made the process into some sort of poll,
resembling a social networking group rather than a record company
meeting. Props for trying something different, but this doesn't boost the purpose of an album; it ends up
harming it.
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