What was I thinking? – Franz Ferdinand

14 Jul

A feature where I pathetically despair over the misguided loves and interests of my youth. Today: Scottish, sexually ambiguous indie band Franz Ferdinand.

Maybe I was just dazzled by the box art.

I remember the day – hell, the four minutes – where I stopped enjoying Franz Ferdinand. I’d stayed up until an ungodly hour to watch the first video showing the first single of their second album. I’m fairly sure it was called Do You Want To (because the core refrain consisted of nothing else), and as the ridiculously twee verses morphed into dreadfully camp choruses, I watched my first ‘favourite band’ crumble into pedestrian dance drivel which thought the line “I love your friends, they’re oh so arty” is acceptable. I didn’t buy the album.

Whilst the third (or there abouts) single had a smidgeon of rocky charm, nothing I heard since had topped the best handful of songs from the first album. Which is especially sad since, looking back, they weren’t up to much either. Sure, I may have geekily air-guitared the ‘solo’ in This Fire but now I’m older slightly less dumb I can see that this was a solo which tries convincing real solos, such as the badass one in Tenacious D’s Master Exploder, of its true greatness, but is met with sighs of “I hate it when this shit happens” and is pitied so much that the solo is put to work in Exploder‘s kitchen, where it eventually invents This Fire Cake.

What else? How about the half-arsed mumbled vocals on Darts of Pleasure? The total forgetability of all the songs that I haven’t mentioned or were singles, hence why I haven’t mentioned them? The guitarist’s Tetris-square head? It looks like it was rendered for the original Playstation. His head’s so square it’s sometimes confused for Oxo stock. Need some storage for moving house? Look no further than, um, Franz Ferdinand Guitarist’s box head. I mean, Jesus.

The sole redeeming feature of this unbuttered watercress sandwich of an album is the third track, Take Me Out, which has achieved fairly I Predict a Riot-like karaoke potential if you fancy a singalong and have literally have no other music with you whatsoever, or have somehow slipped into an alternate universe where remarkably unremarkable soft-dance-post-punk is all that exists. Though if that happened to me I’d probably go lick a railway track.

So, here’s to Franz Ferdinand’s Franz Ferdinand, by Franz Ferdinand – I hereby wash my hands of the first album I bought with my own money. But hey, we all do stupid things when we’re young.


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