Franz Ferdinand transitioned gracefully to legacy act. That they were a retro band from the start, intoxicated by new wave danciness and Britpop optimism, surely helped. Now in its third decade, the Glasgow quintet released a greatest hits album in 2022 but resisted the lure of the 20th-anniversary tour last year when 2004’s indelible debut hit that milestone, prioritizing new material in setlists instead. They’ve never released an irredeemably bad album, never chased trends or hollow rebrands, even if in recent years their studio output has slowed to a trickle.
That, too, is a perk of legacy status: You don’t have to release an album every two years. These Scots don’t rush: The time elapsed since their fifth album, 2018’s peppy, disco-colored Always Ascending, is longer than the Great War sparked by the assassination of the Archduke. Now, at long last, comes a new album that sounds… a whole lot like Always Ascending.
Breezy and unflappably upbeat, these tunes summon the vintage swagger and suave humor of Franz Ferdinand’s early records but little of the punkish exhilaration. Alex Kapranos is older and wiser: “Did you ever get the feeling that there’s something come undone?” he croons as “Audacious” kicks into pleasantly ruffled gear, still managing to marshall some anti-defeatist optimism for the McCartney-esque pop of the chorus (“Don’t stop feeling audacious/There’s no one to save us/So just carry on”). “Build It Up,” one of several songs co-written by keyboardist Julian Corrie, is funky and light on its feet, with a chorus that packs enough momentum for festival stages.
A loose concept gives The Human Fear some shape and purpose. Kapranos describes it as “a bunch of songs searching for the thrill of being human via fears.” Not that there’s much soul-baring here; like his Britpop forebears, Kapranos specializes in character sketches and sardonic vignettes instead. On “The Doctor,” he cheekily plays a hospital patient who refuses to go home: “I have nurses I can talk to and thermometers to hold.” “Bar Lonely” offers vignettes from a sad-sack watering hole where “everybody here is alone, just like you,” though handclaps and hooky bah-bah-bah-bahs keep it light.
Still, for an album ostensibly inspired by terror and thrill, The Human Fear plays it pretty safe. The songs are amiable and easygoing, with plenty of hooks but few big swings; there’s not much to trigger an adrenaline shock. Only on “The Birds,” a spiky, post-punk curveball of a closer, does the band wig out and summon some real anxiety. Otherwise, when Franz Ferdinand stray from their comfort zone, the results are embarrassing (the electroclash misfire “Hooked,” outfitted with an EDM drop) or just nearly weird enough to entertain (the klezmer-inspired curio “Black Eyelashes”).
“They’re poised to be the next Duran Duran or the next Pulp,” a critic for this website wrote 21 years ago, reviewing Franz Ferdinand’s self-titled. “Or they could be the next Menswear.” Instead, Franz Ferdinand plowed a comfortable path somewhere in between; respected but not revered, they deliver an album every half-decade or so to remind you why you loved them in the early aughts. The Human Fear isn’t provocative enough to revitalize their reputation, but it certainly won’t do it any harm.
