"She is so white (white!)/ I was born to excite her/ She could never be whiter!" Now, I swear, I can smile and nod as well as the next dude. Maybe better. It's not as easy as you might think to drag me into the cynical pop Philistinism that prevents so many of my indie brethren from enjoying themselves. Even I have my limits, though, and when it comes to Electric Six's debut full-length, even the vaunted "pop defense"-- the Johnny Cochran of all justifications for idiotic music-- can't win this case. If Andrew W.K. hadn't gone out of his way to lower a common denominator that was already quite low enough, thanks, these repellent schlock-rockers would have taken care of it. All of you, every last one who defended I Get Wet's slope-browed Anthems of Commerce as anything other than pandering, mindless escapism, reap the terrifying fruits of your labor: Fire.
Is it that I don't "get" the Electric Six? Believe me, I get it; it's just that once I got it, I started looking for a way to get rid of it. When snarling frontman Dick Valentine subjects me to lyrics like, "I've got something to put in you/ At the gay bar," I just wonder if, upon the crazy success of their incredible disco/rock hybrid, "Danger! High Voltage", these guys simply decided it was easier to just give up than to try topping it. Granted, it's not all as sophomorically abominable as "Gay Bar"; some of it's actually even kinda funny, in a Men Without Hats sorta way ("Radio message from HQ/ Dance commander, we love you"), but let's be direct: these guys mention "fire" in nearly every song (that, or "going to war" on the dancefloor), and the subject of "Naked Pictures" is none other than-- whoa-ho-ho!-- your mother.
Clunky power-chord progressions, tinny percussion, and distant synths complete the gruesome aura of kitsch surrounding Fire-- and that wouldn't be so bad if we could at least dismiss it as pure novelty. If only there wasn't that lingering sense of vacuous sincerity. Electric Six, like Andrew W.K. before them, are not in the business of satire. However: if it's really all fun and games, as the staggeringly insipid Detroit six-piece might lead you to believe, the music doesn't give it away. 80s rock clichés abound-- but just subtly enough to imply that the band was either too musically incompetent to follow through to the point of parody, or just didn't give a shit that they are, in essence, a very sincere hair-rock band. Even the ballad here-- a love song to a synthesizer-- is drenched in beamingly heartfelt bleach-blond solos and soaring, Winger-esque keyboards.
But hold up, it's confession time: until my HMO approves my elective surgery, I'm not made of stone. And even though many of these songs are steaming retro-piles, and the lyrical content here often makes a fatal car crash seem pleasant by comparison, Electric Six actually bothered to throw in a few songs that are genuinely, unabashedly entertaining. Slightly funky guitar lines skirt along the edge of power ballad territory, while Valentine dives completely over the edge on the laughably earnest, yet surprisingly upbeat "I'm the Bomb". Title aside, it's the band's most serious moment, and proves to be a fairly even blend of bouncy, disposable pop and just enough real meaning, or sentiment, to sustain interest. "Synthesizer", the aforementioned techno-serenade, closes the album immediately afterward on an equally positive note; the loopy, whistling synth tropes are at least a decent counter to the time they spend mining hair-metal elsewhere.
And yes, "Danger! High Voltage", the surprise British dance hit of '02, is reprised wonderfully, forming the only truly illuminating cut to be found on Fire. The steamy sax action and rattling, echoing guitar-funk has all of the original's overwhelming urgency, and then some, thanks to co-yelps from Jack White. After having put me through Whirlwind Heat, I was sure that Jack and I would meet in the afterlife as enemies on the vast battlefields of Valhalla, but his desperate screaming offsets Valentine's sneering rumble perfectly, achieving an almost impossibly frantic tone. The band never even comes close to that level of unrestrained might anywhere else; the only other song that succeeds similarly-- in spite of wading hip-deep through the prevalent 80s rock clichés-- is "Electric Demons in Love". And even that remains too rigidly tied to Def Leppardisms to pass as anything greater than a basic achievement of its aim.
So that's my dirty little secret: in spite of myself, I like a few of these songs. I only hope that my earlier warnings are sobering enough to put it all in perspective. As good as "Danger! High Voltage" is, the rest of this album is simply not worth it. Fortunately, you can just pick up the single for half the price, and without having to put yourself through this hairy mess.
