After "Oh My God" dented the UK singles charts in 2004, the Kaiser Chiefs were snatched up by Universal as the label's entry into the resurgent British new wave sweepstakes. The band's debut album, Employment, and its proletarian bent sounded like a recipe for the broadest appeal possible: The Chiefs occasionally shared Jam-isms with the Futureheads, and could wank out a power ballad like Bloc Party, but their appeal was geared toward a larger audience than their art-school counterparts. The rhythms were just as foregrounded, but drawn more from pub-rock and Britpop than Josef K and Joy Division, with banged-out piano runs and ramped-up choruses replacing chippy guitars and watertight drumming. And it worked-- the album sold more than 1.75 million copies in the UK alone.
With a bit of distance, Employment certainly sounds like a debut record from a band rushed into the spotlight. They had the energy and enthusiasm of a group of soldiers on a weekend furlough, with Ricky Wilson leading a series of sing-alongs and sappy-but-heartfelt ballads. It was far from great album, but the simmering violence of "I Predict a Riot" and infectiousness of "Na Na Na Na Naa", "Everyday I Love You Less and Less", and "Oh My God" got the Chiefs bracketed with British ancestors such as Small Faces, Madness, and Blur.
Well, if Yours Truly, Angry Mob is any indication, the party's over. It's perhaps not surprising that the band is unable to keep their Employment energy level intact, but Mob's level of cynicism seems a bit of an overcompensation, as if the second record is an extended dreary hangover from the drunken escapade of the first.
First single "Ruby" starts the album on an upbeat note, though it fails to pack much of a punch. Essentially a repackaged summation of Employment's dynamism, "Ruby" pauses ever so slightly before hitting its simple, repeated refrain, ostensibly to increase its potency on impact. But despite their best effort, there's only a small pop instead of an explosion. "The Angry Mob" raises the stakes a bit, alternating clenched-teeth dares with limber capitulations, resulting in the album's most enjoyable song. Wilson attempts to force a barroom competitor into independent thought: "You're winding yourself up until you're turning blue, repeating everything that you've read," before giving up: "It's only 'cause you came here with your brothers, too; if you came here on your own you'd be dead."
If "Mob" ended with that bit of resignation, it would be fine, but the coda brings the groans, explaining the titular mass not as rowdy bar patrons or concert attendees, but society itself: "We are the angry mob, we read the papers everyday/ We like who we like, we hate who we hate, but we're oh so easily swayed." Wilson was fine as a casual observer on Employment, and Mob's occasional, vague forays into social comment certainly illustrate that he'd do well to avoid too much editorializing. The Buzzcocks-referencing "Everything Is Average Nowadays" mines similar territory ("everyone is sitting on the fence"), yet the band didn't get the message that they weren't supposed to prove their claim by illustrating how blandness sounds.
Wilson's preoccupation with failed (and failing) romantic relationships continues with "Love Is Not a Competition (But I'm Winning)" as the logical followup to Employment's "Everyday I Love You Less and Less", the sentiment from which was properly identified on this Web site in Joe Tangari's Employment review as barely concealed pining. "I Can Do Without You" is a half-hearted attempt at self-encouragement, and Wilson's not too sure he'll succeed, following the refrain with "but it won't be very good." The self-hatred is capped on "My Kind of Guy", where Wilson abandons the ladies and finds a partner in despair, one who "sounds as horrible" as he does.
The central flaw of Mob-- and it's a profound one-- is that its attempt to refine Employment's boundless levels of boyish vigor with introspection and intellect comes across as tired and bored. If he cared a whit about subtlety or nuance, Wilson could wrench deeper meaning from his pithy observations. Of course, he doesn't, which was fine when the band was content to wallop the listener over the head. But On Mob, he's clearly trying for something more, yet seemingly unaware that he's caught in a rut. He accidentally explains it best in "Thank You Very Much" (itself a pale retread of "I Predict a Riot"'s rhythm bed): "This should be a thrill, but it feels like a drill."
