When musical partnerships are also romantic ones, they often acquire a certain kind of sanctity from the possibility that the former is an extension of the latter. Violet Clark is more explicit about her work with husband Frank Black. Describing the difference between their first two records collaborating as Grand Duchy, she explains "if Petit Fours was missionary, Let the People Speak needs to be doggystyle." Point taken, but mind you this is a record meant for public consumption and money that could otherwise be spent on beer and shoes, not illicitly acquired boudoir photography. So I don't think I'm casting aspersions on the domestic life of Black and Clark by saying that even if Let the People Speak feels utterly passionless and perfunctory, it doesn't even qualify as masturbation-- they certainly don't sound like they're enjoying it.
Forgive me for the vulgarity; the mind tends to wander during this thing. With its 15 tracks clocking in at over an hour, Let the People Speak is either utterly unconscionable in its length or laughably and endearingly audacious in the way Lil B mixtapes are. Either way, it certainly gives you plenty of opportunities to wrangle with its intentions without any strong hooks or riffs bugging you. At least it's somewhat conceptual: As with Queens of the Stone Age's Songs For the Deaf, Let the People Speak is arranged like a radio rock block, interrupted by fake callers who exclaim, "I love the Grand Duchy," in terrible European accents and interstitial jabber courtesy of Phoenix DJ Jonathan L that ranges from NPR-droll non sequitur to baffling song-specific commentary. The dime-thin disco of "Silver Boys" puts him in "a Warhol-esque kind of mood," even though I swear there's a Bloodhound Gang song I can't immediately recall that that sounds just like it-- I can't tell whether it's more embarrassing if L is being serious or if he's joking.
I'm sure it was fun to plan out, but the formatting generates an ironic heft as People trudges forward. Combining granule-free guitar distortion, Clark's half-sassed vocals, and "electronica" touches wholly uninformed by actual electronic music, Grand Duchy is essentially a later Buzz Bin revivalist act-- a substitute for any number of bands who'd sign to Lava or Sony 550, have a cute Mark Kohr-directed video, and namedrop Pixies as an influence in interviews despite having learned nothing from them. Though melodically and rhythmically deficient, most of the Clark-fronted songs are still technically "dance rock" in the same manner Republica were, and if the bullish insistence of "See-Thru You" and "Geode" manage a fraction of "Ready to Go"'s licensing legs, more power to them. "White Out" has a decent shot if there are music coordinators out there who haven't already passed on the last three Metric albums, since it's the most uptempo thing here and I have an inkling it might be about cocaine as a social lubricant. It's catchy enough before Clark spends its last minute and a half chanting, "go get the white out!" ad nauseum like a college girl who could not be more proud of her own drug euphemism.
Taking his snoozier solo material into account, I'm not gonna act like Black could've saved this by exerting his will as more than just a capable rhythm guitarist. Not when he makes an "appearance" and little else on the songs he fronts. Right around the midpoint of his Magnetic Fields karaoke on "Annie Bliss", Let the People Speak feels fucking endless and you're no more comforted by seeing the seven-minute runtime of "Dark Sparkles and the Beat" lying immediately in wait. Meanwhile, Black sounds more like himself on the junkyard blues of "Shady", but still mostly like Patton Oswalt's Tom Waits impression: "I knew a guy named Drew/ Who had a friend named Katie/ And they were made in the shade/ Because they were shady, shady, shady, shady." That's when the cowbell comes in. Look, there are worse crimes than making a boring alt-tronica record, but if you're responsible for Doolittle and Surfer Rosa and Trompe Le Monde, you're beholden to a certain set of expectations. If this is the music he's inspired to make with the people he loves, I'll stick with the music he made with people he hated.
