Crying babies. They're everywhere. Malls, weddings, funerals, crowded train stations, amusement parks-- no matter where you are, some small child is throwing a fit for some reason you couldn't possibly fathom at your more advanced age. Babies tend to cry at or near the resonant frequency of our eardrums (440 hertz, give or take) so that they can be instantly heard over even the loudest din, and when that sound is isolated, it's one of the most grating noises you'll ever hear. It's designed by nature to be a horrible, piercing noise.
Keeping this in mind, I'm trying to determine why in the world Fugu's Mehdi Zannad decided to include the sounds of several crying babies in the untitled interlude (hereafter referred to as "Track 13") of his debut album. Of all the sounds in the world, that one gets to me perhaps more than any other. Screeching feedback? Fine. Microtonal sine waves? Great, bring it on. Crashing, dissonant orchestral crescendos? A walk in the park. But wailing infants? No, that just won't do. And the real rub of it is that this one lame little instrumental disrupts the flow of what's otherwise a rather pleasant pop album.
In fact, ignoring Track 13 by skipping it or simply programming it out of your player's sequence reveals an album of many delights-- some ornate, and some quite direct. After an inconsequential orchestral introduction (also untitled), we're treated to what may be the best song on the whole album. "The Best of Us" (Zannad is French, but writes mostly in English) is a catchy, classic pop song that you'd swear was sung by a woman if the credits didn't state otherwise. Zannad indeed has a rather feminine falsetto, but for the most part, you can tell he's a guy.
This doesn't stop Stereolab's Laetitia Sadier from sounding more masculine than he does on "Sol y Sombra," the album's only song sung in French. It's worth noting that Fugu have accompanied Stereolab on several tours and that they're one of Tim Gane's favorite bands. It's no surprise then that Fugu's own sound bears the marks of Stereolab even when Sadier isn't offering guest vocals. However, Fugu exhibit none of Gane & Co.'s tendency toward experimentalism, gravitating instead toward a purer pop approach.
Zannad backs his tunes with gooey production that recalls the most polished efforts of the High Llamas or the Minders, and a huge arsenal of back-up players, including a ten-piece horn section, nine string players, two flautists and a clarinetist. The overall result is full and satisfying, if a bit monochromatic. "Baragan" makes the most of its extensive arrangement, surrounding the basic harpsichord rhythm with McCartney-ish bass fills and meaty, trombone-led horn charts.
You could check all kinds of influences from the Left Banke and Moody Blues to Todd Rundgren, the Beatles, and even Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, and they'd pretty much all be right. But there's also a certain modern lounge chill to the record that's hard to come by outside of a certain core of artists. Zannad packs a lot of melodies and countermelodies into 18 tracks on this disc, but virtually none of them are delivered with any particular sense of urgency. Rather, the musicians involved seem quite content to invite you into a relaxed state.
Several of the instrumental interludes on the album shine just as brightly as the proper songs. "Angel Fair with Golden Hair" recalls the instrumentals from Pet Sounds with syrupy orchestration and simple, clean guitar hooks. "Tsimbalon" is all Bacharach, with a mellow trombone melody and spare percussion. Of course, Track 13 soon destroys the calm "Tsimbalon" induces, and it's time for the skip button.
All in all, Fugu 1 is a fairly nice little slab of French Anglo-pop, and pleasant reading accompaniment if you can reach the skip button from where you're sitting. Still, all the baroque orchestral flourishes in the world can't save it from ultimately feeling fairly flat and unidimensional when you listen hard enough. Only two or three songs really stand apart from the bunch well enough to grab your attention, and they're gone fairly quickly. If your collection is already loaded with a bit too much pop in debt to the three big B's of the 60s (Beatles, Beach Boys, Bacharach), you probably don't need to buy this album. But if you do happen to purchase it, chances are good that it won't have you crying.
