Do You Listen to the Doves?
Time has produced a curious class of records that have been dubbed "listening albums". As the title would suggest, these albums are intended to be, well, listened to. They're not "dance" albums or "pop" albums, and they don't set out "rock" you, "groove" you, or even "upset" you. No: the experience they promise is far more transcendent than those corporeal reactions and, as the practitioners of the form would like to think, much more transforming. Much ambient music is naturally a part of this category, but there are certainly enthusiasts across the musical spectrum -- Lou Reed on Metal Machine Music for one or, more recently, Radiohead on Kid A.
One of the de facto qualities of listening records is that they are obtuse -- appealing to only a small class of in-the-know listeners, trading accessibility (and sometimes, likeability) for complexity. But the Doves -- a threesome from Manchester, England that includes twin brothers Andy and Jez Williams along with Jimi Goodwin -- have set out to prove, with the 2002 Last Broadcast, that music can be both dense and decipherable. Marrying pop sensibilities, rock fortitude, electronic experiments, and Britpop manifestos, the Doves have concocted an irresistible potion, capable of attracting heady listeners while carrying their intoxicating message to the masses.
Last Broadcast picks up where Lost Souls (the band's 2000 debut) left off, feeding the band's appetite for oceanic melodies, waving shifts in volume, and rolling guitars. But they take that sensibility to another level; here, each song is more like an overture unto itself, built slowly and carefully with meticulous attention to detail. After "Intro" -- the album's somber yet stately electro-instrumental opener -- the Doves hurtle into the glory of "Words". Composed of wide brushstrokes of colorful melody and lyrics that are both triumphant and thoughtful, the song is the sort that's destined for an arena. Beneath those layers, though, are affects that signal that the Doves are knowingly after a whole lot more than thousands singing along and waving lighters. A particular point of reckoning comes just beyond the song's middle, breaking the pattern of verse and chorus, when an eerie female voice begins to whisper, finally uttering "Oh my god". It's a smart, subtle way to ground listeners in the lyrics: "Words / They mean nothing / So you can't hurt me." There's a victory in there, but it's the sort that's also coming to terms with loss.
Behemoth, ambitious songs like "Words" are all over this record, each with their own moment of actualization. Following "Words" is "There Goes the Fear", whose miracle comes early on, when a dramatic drop in volume gives way to prayer-like singing before driving to the flooding catharsis of the chorus. It's that effect which calls attention the song's intricate structure: quick-paced drums, New Order-esque guitar lines but also fingerpicking that sometimes sounds folkish, subtle digitized noises that are only capable of a band that has a relationship, not a romance, with electronica. (True to point, members of the Doves used to be in a house band called Sub Sub.) Other songs help to widen their catalog of capable styles: the brooding "Friday's Dust" which balloons with strings and howls with woodwinds; the rock-able brightness of "Pounding"; and the blustery, tingling title track "Last Broadcast", a gothic but also celestial tune. And though this album is missing a "Catch the Sun", it becomes clear that they probably do better without the likes of it, anyway. When you've achieved such grandeur without making impenetrable music, there's no need for the standard, hooky fare.
When Lost Souls came out, everyone said the Doves were the next Great Band -- and here, on Last Broadcast they've finally proven they merit that title. They're a group of tremendous musicians and clever thinkers, contemplative spirits and profound souls. The hypotheticals: If the Verve could have kept it together for one more album, they would have written Last Broadcast. If Radiohead made a companion album to OK Computer, it would have been Last Broadcast. But the Doves don't need or deserve to be sandwiched in these kinds of cheeky comparisons. On its own, this album promises to be legendary, and if the Doves keep going like they, they promise to be legends. Be sure to give it a listen.
— 31 May 2002
