When I write my second review of the same band for Pitchfork, I typically look back at what I wrote the first time and try to see how the band has developed since their last release. Hefner's Breaking God's Heart is such a distant memory now. It's like I reviewed it in the throes of some kind of fugue state. I remember a Cockney accent singing some catchy songs, but that's about it. My own review provides few clues as to what Hefner might be all about. I made some puzzling and ultimately embarrassing remarks about Belle & Sebastian, and then I tried to shoehorn some humor in by comparing Hefner to Poison. This will not stand. Clearly, Hefner are much more in the vein of Cinderella.
I think I understand now why I was at a loss for anything interesting to say about Breaking God's Heart. The music of Hefner just doesn't do much for me. And yet, because it's not really bad in any discernable way, I don't have a particularly entertaining way to attack it. So this review would be much easier to write if I just explained my own personal development and ignored Hefner. But that's not why the 'Fork pays me, so I'm going to do my best.
In Hefner's favor, they subscribe to the virtues of classic pop songwriting. The chord changes line up with the melodies, which seem familiar but not overly so, and hence, are pleasant. The songs are banged out on guitars and pianos and have saxophones wailing in the background. The subject matter alternates between intimate relationships and the pros and cons of city living. The vocals often break into awkward yelling mid-song, as if singer Darren Hayman really means it (I believe he does, actually). But if it sounds like I'm describing The Commitments as an emo band, well... if the vintage boots fit...
That could sound more contemptuous than I mean it to be. In truth, about half the time Hayman takes off on his pitch-challenged flights of fancy, I want to follow him. The vocal break on this record's title song is particularly inspired, as Haymen's admittedly whiny refrain of "if you don't love me," which swells perfectly with the instrumental surge, resonates emotionally.
But for every one of those, there's a discomforting moment, as on "The Day That Thatcher Dies". First, songs about Thatcher are why I ignored British rock in the 80s (my beloved Smiths excepted). Second, the riff is stolen from BTO's "Takin' Care of Business". And then, at the climax of the song, a child's chorus intones, "Ding, dong, the witch is dead!" These guys could learn something about subtlety from Hugh Hefner. Sorry, this is decent pub-rock, but there are 1,000 albums released every day. Buy another one.
