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2004:
Album of the Year
A
Grand Don't Come For Free
The Streets
Those of you who cannot afford the costly therapy required to get over
such traumas may remember the mercifully short-lived phenomenon that was
Murray Lachlan-Young. Lachlan-Young was a self-consciously byronic performance
poet, with an uncanny likeness to Lawrence Llewellen-Bowyn (what is it
with these double-barrel names?) who for a brief few months in the early
90Õs had broadsheet writers claiming that poetry was the new rockÕnÕroll.
Needless to say, he was terrible. Poetry is no more the new rockÕnÕroll
than rockÕnÕroll is the new poetry. To call Bob Dylan a poet is not a
compliment but a category mistake. HeÕs a great artist, but heÕs demonstrably
not a poet. IsnÕt pop music enough for these people? No one ever felt
the need to call Hitchcock a great dramatist or Man Ray a great painter.
To bring poetry into the equation is to encourage only the poseurs and
fakes, who are thus given licence to assault us with overwrought metaphors
and indulgent confessionalism. The real artists in pop stay wisely away
from the ŅpoeticÓ, and their work is all the better for it. At its best
it is as vital and as valuable as poetry, but it is not the same thing.
For a start, you can dance to it.
It is therefore a relief to learn that Mike Skinner, aka The Streets,
rejects all notions of his work as poetry. A lesser artist would have
his head turned by such a label, and start pandering to the likes of the
academic who recently compared him to Pepys and Dostoyevsky. (Why stop
there? Why not Joyce? Why not Shakespeare?)
Those familiar with The Streets first album, Original Pirate Materiel,
and current single Fit But You Know It will be aware that SkinnerÕs persona
is that of an archetype; the smart young working class male; a bit cocky,
a bit cheeky, but charming and highly intelligent. What sets him apart
is that heÕs the most exiting songwriting talent to emerge in years. He
has a sharp wit, and a sharper eye and ear for the ordinary details of
life Š bad phone coverage, fights with girlfriends, the dreaded Ņinsufficient
fundsÓ. He also has a facility with language, rhythm and rhyme that is
at times astonishing. A Grand DonÕt Come for Free shows him moving on
from the Garage MC-isms of his debut and into a world all his own.
The album tells the story of a few months in the life of a semi-autobiographical
narrator, Mike. When first we encounter him, heÕs having a bad day. HeÕs
rushed to the video shop to return a DVD in time, only to find that the
case is empty and the disc still at home on top of the TV. His bank account
is empty, he canÕt phone his mum because his batteryÕs dead, and worst
of all, his £1,000 savings have gone mysteriously missing. ItÕs just as
well heÕs got a date coming up. In ŅCould Well Be InÓ Mike muses to himself
that the way SimoneÕs playing with her hair could be, if that ITV documentary
about body language is anything to go by, a good sign. Despite the laddishness
of some of his asides itÕs clear that what he longs for is companionship
and intimacy, for long conversations and a feeling of togetherness. He
may be hoping to pull, but what heÕs really looking for is love. Despite
a disaster of a night out, when she doesnÕt get into the club, and he
ends up taking all the drugs himself and wondering if heÕs been stood
up, things settle down into a relationship. I WouldnÕt Have It Any Other
Way is built on a pretty piano riff and a sweet soul chorus, and finds
Mike detailing a picture of domestic bliss, albeit one featuring a heroic
amount of dope-smoking. He knows thereÕs a whole world out there, but
is just as happy to sit with his girl watching The Bill, amongst the torn-up
cigarettes and overflowing ashtrays.
A row with Simone sends him off on holiday in a belligerent mood, hence
the loud, lairy tone of Fit But You Know It. A wise choice for first single,
this is the funniest track on the record, and will likely have people
jumping up and down on dance floors wherever package tours fly to. Like
all good holidays, this one comes with a hefty hangover (blame all those
in-flight Chardonnays) and over a dodgy connection to his mate Scott,
Mike pours out his regret at his infidelity. Alas, it seems that heÕs
not the only one in the relationship whoÕs been straying. The penultimate
track, Dry Your Eyes is gorgeous, heartbroken and pleading. But his pleading
isnÕt enough. ItÕs all over, and thereÕs nothing to do but go home and
spend his afternoons getting drunk on his own.
This is where we find Mike in Empty Cans. Pissed and pissed off, he watches
his broken TV and curses his life and his so-called friends. The TV repairman
comes round, and he manages to get into a fight with him Š and lose. HeÕs
like Jimmy at the end of Quadrophenia. Beaten and sore, he concludes that,
ŅeveryoneÕs a cunt in this life, no-oneÕs there for meÓ.
Then we hear the tape rewind, and the song starts again, with a few important
changes. Now Mike is blaming himself, not his mates for his troubles.
Piano chords are heard over the staccato beats, like tentative rays of
hope. This time, he thinks that maybe heÕs been a bit hard on Scott, and
accepts his offer to fix the TV. Scott comes round and the music loses
its harshness, swelling into something hopeful and thrilling as we proceed
to the denouement of the story. By the end, you want to cheer him on,
as the album reaches a climax as monumentally uplifting and moving as
anything by, say, Spiritualized. As he
reflects on his newly optimistic mood, Mike revisits the message of Stay
Positive, the closing track on his debut: you make your own luck in this
life; look out for your mates and theyÕll look out for you; a leap of
faith is sometimes what it takes to turn your life around.
We hear a lot of bands these days touting their new albums as ŅexperimentalÓ,
which always seems to me to be something of a cop-out. An experiment can
be a success or a failure. Great albums are experiments that work. Experimental
albums are described as such because the artists arenÕt quite sure whether
they worked or not. ItÕs a hedged bet, where the artist gets credit for
innovation if the music turns out to be unlistenable. A Grand DonÕt Come
For Free is very definitely in the former category. It takes risks everywhere.
ItÕs rap music that doesnÕt sound like rap music. It dares to hope that
the listener might want to hear about a life not unlike his or her own.
It flaunts its intelligence and literacy without ever keeping its eyes
off the need to entertain. Every one of these risks pay off. The only
album I can think of that is remotely like it in scope and ambition is
The Divine ComedyÕs Promenade. And the Divine Comedy are a somewhat rarefied
taste, while The Streets are ceaselessly populist.
In this spirit, I wonÕt hedge my critical bets, but will go out on a limb:
This is a major event in contemporary music and by far the greatest album
of 2004.
The first of what will hopefully be many masterpieces by The Streets,
A Grand DonÕt Come For Free has raised the bar for what can be done within
the form of the pop album. It is a true work of art. And you can dance
to it.
by
Fergal Crehan
1st January 2005
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