I've never understood the fascination with a cappella groups, and I doubt I ever will. To me, they represent one of the worst possible manifestations of unfettered personal expression, a noxiously cheeky release of pent-up inhibitions. I like to think my problem with these groups lies mainly with the material they perform, and isn't just some blind phobia or intrinsic prejudice, but until now, I've never had any solid evidence to back me up. The Futureheads' self-titled debut not only affirms my journalistic integrity, but justifies what is essentially a totally groundless position. While not a cappella, per se, The Futureheads are endowed with a gift for gilt vocal harmonies not far removed from that tradition, and they've just made one of my favorite pop records this year.
The Futureheads aren't looking to raze any musical foundations; they've simply put their ample vocal talents in a novel context: Their record recalls nothing so much as The Whiffenpoofs and The Lemon Drops of this world, if greatly scuzzed-up and adorned by jangly guitars and ferocious drumwork. Like 70s post-punks Wire, The Futureheads show little regard for traditional verse/chorus/verse structure. Rather, they indulge in multi-section pieces that rapidly cover an immense amount of ground. The album's runtime speaks to how much they accomplish with this method: 14 tracks and a surplus of ideas in 33 fast minutes. What's more, almost the entire first three-quarters of the album is single-ready material, including an actual foray into a cappella ("Danger of the Water") and the massively anthemic "Carnival Kids", one of the truly great songs I've heard in some time.
The album opens with a stellar triptych of songs that recalls and even, arguably, surmounts the best work of 70s pop/punk icons The Jam and The A's. But if tracks such as the blithely anthemic "Robot" and the unrepentantly chorus-milking "A to B" smack of bands 30 years bygone, The Futureheads manage to incorporate a series of startlingly fresh flourishes into their fast-paced pop: Leadoff track "Le Garage" temporarily rides on stuttering martial drumming before resuming its determined stomp; the background vocals alternate between vintage punk shouts and chorused reiterations of the lead vocal line; and a three-second breakdown between the verse and chorus loops an unintelligible distorted phrase like an extended rhythmic fill
Indeed, the vocals are the uncontested centerpiece here, evoking a decidedly Anglo brattiness, but the band's angular guitar/drum interplay provides an equally impressive framework, summoning a Gang of Four more interested in delivering sparkling melody. (Coincidentally, the Four's Andy Gill produced five of the album's tracks.) Here, The Futureheads prove themselves as tight as Dischord's finest post-punks, with the riffs and hooks necessary to flesh out their raw technical skill.
My complaints with this record are small ones, but nevertheless detract-- if just marginally-- from its overall success. The album is frontloaded to a degree, as is the apparent protocol in these days of quotidian rock parvenus. For all its shining moments, The Futureheads would have been doubly impressive had the band cut out filler like the admittedly naive "Stupid and Shallow" or the melodically lacking "Trying Not to Think About It". Even so, I'm hard-pressed to think of many albums of this stripe from the past few years that aren't similarly spotty, right down to potential classics like Is This It or Mclusky Do Dallas.
The Futureheads are at their weakest when they abandon vocal harmonies in favor of a more direct melodic approach; their greatest strength lies in their utilization of voice as a distinct melodic instrument in a loud, often strident context. Instead of affecting wanting vocals in a stylized atonal mishmash (as unskilled punk and pop/punk vocalists often resort to doing), The Futureheads rely on actual chops and the kind of melodic astuteness usually associated with piano-pop balladeers, and in doing so, they exhibit complete control over their music and intertwining vocal deliveries. Like a Greg Maddux of pop/punk, the band show an unassuming hand, but the erudite skill with which they deliver what may initially sound like run-of-the-mill concoctions is surprisingly potent and defiantly consistent.
