One day after the nuclear apocalypse there will be two survivors. The first will be the cockroach, no doubt mutated into a superpowerful intelligent lifeform, a hundred times the size it is now. And in charge of the cockroaches, having them beat a primitive rhythm on their chitinuous exteriors and the ground, will be Mark E Smith. Because it doesn't matter if you're a superevolved hyperintelligent insect, there's no arguing with a force of nature.
Usually with albums from bands who've been going for more than three decades you'd say that you know what to expect. After all, by the time they'd been going as long as Smith, the Stones were burning their bridges to Babylon and resorting to making the most obvious record it was possible for them to make (yes, I mean their remarkably unremarkable cover of that that Dylan song, one that sounded like it'd had all the fire and piss of the original drained and replaced by some synthetic ennui). But then Jagger always seemed to want to use his countercultural cred to gain the approval and friendship of the Establishment and Keef always seemed more interested in chemical and sexual highs (and varieties on old riffs) to be bothered to develop too far from the musical template of their youth (the likes of the trend following Their Satanic Majesties Request and Some Girls being the exception rather than the rule). The albums seem to be simply the excuse for their latest world bestriding moneymaking tour. They haven't so much ploughed their own musical furrow as dug their own chasm, and they're so far entrenched in it there's no way back to the light. Smith's their clear polar opposite. As with the Glimmer Twins, his band are simply his musical vehicle, a dictatorship to express the personality of the leader. The only position in a rock band less secure than being in The Fall is that of Spinal Tap's drummer.
Obviously I exaggerate for dramatic effect there - this album is by the same line up that produced the previous Imperial Wax Solvent. Clearly the current incarnation of The Fall can still satisfy Smith's relentlessly forward looking musical urge. Whilst I admit to being no expert on The Fall bar a few albums here and there and the BBC's recent excellent documentary, it seemed to me that Smith generally split his bands to avoid finding a musical comfort zone and keep the band fresh. It's consistent with the spirit that's seen them move from post punk, through their relatively pop mid 80s, the scoring of ballet I Am Kurious, Oranj and the electronica of much of their early 90s output. The man most famously a fan of theirs, John Peel, once argued that 'they are always different, always the same'. And although that might look like an oxymoron, it's the best definition of the band. The Fall don't make the same album twice, but Smith's presence means you can immediately identify a Fall record. I promise that'll be the only time I mention St Peel here, to simply flag them as his favourite band is to do a disservice to his almost infinitely broad tastes and the band's output.
Your Future Our Clutter is no exception to that definition. Despite the lengthy nature of the songs this is a lean record, at times almost brutally so. I don't mean that in the conventional musical sense, the one that speaks of mean, sparse instrumentation, but in terms of intent - this is a record which embraces sampling Daft Punk in the middle of Cowboy George's rock n roll guitars, so it's not so unimaginative as to restrict itself. Smith declaims 'a new way of recording' as 'a chain around the neck' at one point), condemning an obsession with the cutting edge in one of his trademark pithy withering put downs.
While it's bracing and typically atypical, the only criticism I'd level here would be that it might be the sort of record those unfamiliar with The Fall would expect of The Fall - generally a clatter of guitar and drums with a grumpy Manc bark hectoring over them. it's the little unexpected moments that redeem that though, the aforementioned sampling and the seconds of silence in the middle of Weather Report 2. The Fall albums I've heard are ones which demand and reward close listening, looking to keep the listener as off balance as possible.
Weather Report 2 ends with Smith whispering 'you don't deserve rock n roll' to his listeners, before ending with a few seconds of a new song. There's no better illustration of Smith's art than that, the great contrarian railing against even those who listen to him before looking to move on and say something new. There's lyrical and musical references to previous records, reminding us this is the same band, the one you always knew, but one capable of change and adaptation, yes probably even in the face of a nuclear apocalypse. Smith and The Fall will always be with us, restlessly the same and relentlessly different. They've avoided making the same record yet again here. And long may they go on doing that.
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