The first time I heard Franz Ferdinand, I didn’t really hear them. One morning I happened to have MTV on in the background and caught a You Hear It First news segment, which profiled the band. Whether due to quick editing or morning lethargy, I couldn’t make out the music in the live footage or much in the interview beyond a floppy fringe. But I did catch one very important thing, their desire to make "music for girls to dance to" and in an instant I knew they could easily become a problem for me. As "Take Me Out" gained notice and popularity here in the States, I did all I could to avoid them. Not an easy task with a single so monstrously catchy and two friends of mine being deep into the band. I held out until that September when my first listen of "The Dark of the Matinée" confirmed my instincts. Franz Ferdinand stole my heart and, soon, restored my faith.
Academic integrity commands me to share this personal history and be upfront. The internet just loves to groan about biases, so I feel putting this context out in the open should squash that. Besides, as the saying goes, write what you know and I know Franz exemplifies so much of my musical philosophy that a retrospective of their work to date acts as the best introduction for this blog. They are my favorite band for a reason, after all, and this post (and the three to come) will provide a small glimpse into why. Strictly speaking, these posts aren’t meant to be reviews of their work. They could be seen as analyses with Franz Ferdinand as the jumping off point, but I would say they’re somewhere in the middle. Also, the discussion will only cover the four albums, the core of the band’s catalog; no b-sides, no covers. Most discussion will be grouped by album, but some tracks might be discussed out of that sequence. With that in mind…
A key component to understanding my musical philosophy and, incidentally, Franz’s predominant musical philosophy also, is an interest in pop music that works on multiple levels. Music that triggers an emotional response first and foremost or, according to front man Alex Kapranos, "bypasses your brain completely and makes you get on your feet," but can hold up to deeper scrutiny and be enriching if you let it. There are examples of this throughout pop history, from the Beatles to the Clash, Bowie to Gaga, but another distinct example is Franz’s own "Take Me Out."
Though unfair, one can see why "Take Me Out" casts such a shadow over the rest of their output in the eyes of some. The combination of the song’s ear-catching opening, the main guitar riff, and the force of that driving beat are simply undeniable. If this song can’t make you dance, it’s hard to imagine what could. As for the song’s meaning, interpretations vary, including the idea that the narrator is the Archduke Ferdinand. I, for one, have never subscribed to that particular thought. Yes, it’s about pulling a trigger, but a more metaphorical one. Put plainly, it’s about sexual tension and flirting, but unlike what passes for flirting in much of recent popular music the narrator of this song isn’t bragging. In fact, the narrator seems pretty inept, which makes the song more about the fragility of sexual tension than unfailing swaggering bravado (looking at you Jason "Talk Dirty to Me" Derulo.) Lines like "If I move this could die / Eyes move this could die" and "If I wane this could die / I wait this could die" illustrate this ineptitude quite well. The slightest misstep (or lack of step) could ruin any chance the narrator has with the target. Even if they were to simply look away from each other the tension could fall apart or disappear. And yet, despite knowing that he’s doomed if he does nothing, he resigns himself to that failure ("I know I won’t be leaving here with you") and continues to awkwardly wait on the other person to pull the trigger. Franz revisits this theme of sexual tension-meets-romantic-awkwardness later on in their work with "No You Girls"/"Katherine Kiss Me."
If "Take Me Out" represents fumbles on the road to seduction, "Darts of Pleasure" and "Michael" represent the flair. "Michael"’s narrator has no qualms about giving into the immediacy of the moment ("Nothing matters now") and making his desires abundantly clear. According to Kapranos, "The most enjoyable thing about songs and sex is the flirting… the way sparks go flying. It’s good to write about love, but it’s more exciting to write about the suggestion that love is about to happen, being on the cusp of that passion." "Darts of Pleasure" encapsulates such excitement with its narrator’s promises of "fantastic passion" and "tense anticipation" and, of course, its musical climax. A fascination with such tension is one I have as well, but that isn’t so much about musical philosophy as it is something I have an affinity for, like horn sections. The same could be said about my love for Franz’s tendency for contrasts, particularly in music and lyrics, as seen in "Take Me Out"’s driving, bouncy music paired with fairly downer lyrics or even how Franz Ferdinand consists mainly of dance tracks, but begins and ends in softness.
In addition to making music that works on multiple levels Franz’s desires to make music that, to quote Kapranos, "communicates the most complex of ideas in the simplest way." One of the best examples of this put into practice is Franz Ferdinand’s opening track, "Jacqueline." The first verse recalls an incident between the titular Jacqueline and Ivor Cutler, wherein Cutler’s romantic advances were rejected. His response, "You see me just as an old man, but I’m looking at you with the same eyes that I had as a young man" became "Sometimes these eyes forget the face they’re peering from… and how in the return of the gaze she can return you the face that you are staring from." With time, that line has become a favorite of mine for the beauty in its deceptive simplicity. In a way the verse reminds me of the Beach Boys’ "Caroline, No," which at its heart mourns the loss of innocence. Both are about what you lose with age, whether internally or externally, and how the loss often happens so gradually it goes unnoticed until something or someone forces you to remember. Hearing "Jacqueline" for the first time at the age of twenty, I mostly understood the opening verse intellectually. Its emotional impact didn’t truly strike me until much later. The ability of a song to unfold with time ties back to the idea of music that works on multiple levels. In the sense that a work that is lasting and enriching should give the listener something new with subsequent listens and almost evolve with the listener.
For clarity’s sake, I want to make a distinction between being exemplary of my musical philosophy versus being formative in said philosophy. Certainly over the last decade Franz Ferdinand has helped hone it and influenced artists I’ve listened to or revisited. It’s not much of a coincidence, for example, that deeper explorations of Duran Duran and Depeche Mode ran parallel to my initial dive into Franz. However, the first artists that I clearly remember discussing the duality of their work, the people who planted that seed in my mind were the Spice Girls. We’ll dig more into them another time, but suffice to say, their part in shaping my expectations and ideals for pop music is impossible for me to overstate. And if you want to find another root of my unabashed defense of pop look no further than that second verse of *NSYNC’s "Pop."
Another major formative influence for me is the Beatles. I speak Beatle. Fluently. So much so that when I found out Kapranos/McCarthy’s intent behind "Cheating on You" was to write their version of an early Lennon/McCartney, I wasn’t the least bit surprised by it; that "eeeeee" after the chorus is classic ‘64 Macca. Unfortunately, while they succeed in their imitation, it feels more like early Beatles filler; "Hold Me Tight" as opposed to "I Feel Fine." Of course, it follows the emotional gut-punch that is "Auf Achse," so perhaps that accounts somewhat for it falling flat. Admittedly, I quite dig "Cheating on You" when done live, but obviously, we’re not here to talk about anything beyond what is committed to the record.
This leads to the other major low point in Franz Ferdinand, "This Fire." The live version is untouchable, but that doesn’t change that what ended up on Franz Ferdinand is less than satisfying. The band wasn’t satisfied with it either, which eventually led to the re-recorded single produced by Rich Costey, "This FFFire." In Helen Chase’s An A – Z of Franz Ferdinand, "This Fire" and "Tell Her Tonight" are given as examples of creative friction between the band and the album’s producer Tore Johansson and it shows, really. There are portions of "This Fire" that are meant to be restrained and it works. During the verses when the slow burn of Alex’s vocal is center-stage, restraint works, but when it comes time for chorus to explode it falls flat and limp. What ultimately makes the Costey produced track superior comes down to a feeling, a surging, strong feeling that the album version lacks. Perhaps the reason for that lies in the difficulty in fully capturing the band’s explosive live energy and something getting lost in translation from live performance to demo to record, a problem that resurfaces later in Franz’s second album.
I mentioned earlier that Franz Ferdinand’s desire to make "music for girls to dance to" grabbed me in a big way before I ever heard a note of their music. It was refreshing to see a band declare that they were about the listener having fun and unashamedly labeled themselves pop when too many treat pop and artistry as diametrically opposed. Their rejection of the snobbery that often plagues artists and fans was music to my ears and "The Dark of the Matinée" brings that idea right into the forefront. The student narrator attempts to "charm" someone by listing everything he hates (people, clothes, words), seemingly surprised by the response, "You smile, mention something that you like, oh, how you’d have a happy life if you did the things you like." The line serves as a clever dig at what often passes for clever to the cynical teen mind. And, damn, is it brilliant. I could go on for hours about the beauty of its melody and wit of its lyrics, but in the end, "Matinée" fills me with joy just as it did the first time I heard it. And after all, isn’t that the whole point?
Next time, more Franz Ferdinand and personal musical philosophy! More specifically, discussion about the myth and reality of the so-called sophomore slump and beginning to explore an idea Michael Nesmith calls "Releasing the Boone." Then we’ll delve into authorial intent, authorial regret, ambition, and Pinkertons.
