Franz Ferdinand and Sparks initially floated the idea of working together in 2004, following the release of the former band's first album, which went platinum, and the latter band's 19th, which didn't chart. Sparks' Ron Mael responded by sending Franz Ferdinand a demo for a song called "Piss Off".
But Sparks are nothing if not ironists, and both bands are long-haulers, and at some point they finally got it together to make an album together, under a name you wouldn't guess would naturally occur to the sixty-something Mael brothers. Appropriately, the first public sign of their collaboration came when Franz Ferdinand's Alex Kapranos joined Sparks for the latter's "When Do I Get to Sing 'My Way'" on stage a few months ago.
As much as FFS' members have been going on about how everyone made concessions to the partnership, in practice this is effectively a Sparks record with a particularly sharp, focused backing band. That's something they've needed for a long time, despite how much fun the Maels' unaccompanied "Two Hands, One Mouth" tour was. The central lyrical topic is Ron Mael's favorite subject, the gross stupidity of masculinity; the musical hooks are mostly Sparksian rather than Franzian. Every song is also, to one extent or another, a vocal duet between Russell Mael and Kapranos. The former's demi-operatic falsetto and pinpoint enunciation are the focal point of his band's arrangements, and the latter's crisp baritone has generally blended in with his group's sound, so their dynamic's not too even either.
"Even" isn't what's called for here, though, and they know it: the longest and most elaborate track is a suite called "Collaborations Don't Work". "Warhol didn't need to ask De Kooning 'bout art/ Frank Lloyd Wright always ate à la carte," Kapranos growls, before Russell Mael joins him with an ionospheric harmony: "Wish I'd been that smart". Indeed, FFS doesn't always work—the album's middle section keeps falling into the latter-day Sparks snare of hitting on some clever phrase ("the man without a tan," "the power couple's coming around") and repeating it until it's certain that everyone's gotten the point. And the chemistry between the two bands isn't so perfect that a second collaborative album would be preferable to whatever either of them has up its sleeve next.
When FFS does click, though, it's a little delight. That initial song Ron Mael contributed, "Piss Off", instantly earns its place on the next Sparks greatest-hits collection: it's a jaunty, lyrically withering rocker of the sort they used to crank out in the '70s. The airy, buzzing funk of "Call Girl" (hook: "why don't you call, girl") is the kind of thing Franz Ferdinand do exceptionally well, although lyrics like "I gave up blow and Adderall for you/ So I'd have dough and spend it all on you" have Sparks' fingerprints all over them. This is not a meeting of equals, and it doesn't have to be. It's a marquee-name band throwing their weight behind a cult act that clearly inspired them—and the cult act showing who's really in charge.
