Humor before wisdom, s'il vous plait. On the Zincs' 2005 album Dimmer, Chicago-via-Albion singer/songwriter Jim Elkington brought a bleak touch of funny to the folk-tinged indie rock he'd honed since his days in dour 90s UK bands Sophia and Elevate. Just a touch, though, which-- when it comes to love, anyway-- was all the music-factory workers of Clivilles & Cole really needed. Hey, it was in Sister Act!.
The Zincs' third album, Black Pompadour, engenders more awkward chuckles than outright guffaws. The brooding mid-mid-tempo pacing and smoky classic-rock guitar grandeur set a table for some serious moping. Elkington's uneasy baritone conjures up the type of blokes who aren't exactly quick with, um, jokes: Jim "Spanky" Morrison, David "the Knife" Bowie, fellow sad Brit popster Richard "Oates" Hawley, ol' what's-his-haircut from Editors, etc. John McEntire's clear, detail-rich mix lets the moody bass lines, toms, and keyboards settle behind the, like, just good songs, duders.
Well, there's the typical rub, right? Chicago guitar guy Nathaniel Braddock's perambulating watch-this-riff riffs deserve better than phrases like "self-mesmeric drones," but Elkington's lyrics don't stop at accidental self-criticisms. Somebody's got a case of staggering bombast: "Would that I were as young as those musk-agers," he intones ponderously on "Burdensome Son". Gentleman tops himself on word-crazy "Hamstrung and Juvenile", groaning, "Once those copulations fail/ You're only half that creature with two spines." It's as if the terrorists behind the Bible's New International Version went to work ruining Othello. Those fucksticks!
Horns smolder, handclaps bring temporary joy, sundry solos stab back and forth longer than you'd expect, but mostly Elkington keeps overreaching. "They scheme with Caesarean smiles," he observes of "The Mogul's Wives". She was like a bearded rainbow. Elsewhere, he notices "the wretchedness of the reptiles' rush." Eyes in their nipples. Awkward chuckles don't really hit till boudoir duet "Lost Solid Colours", when Jimbo suave's all, "I'm so good-looking/ Gonna tell you what you're all about/ Just a thin towel/ Keeps moving your mess around." Here is the dome, back with the-- wait, "mess"?
