What is it with rock 'n' roll and suicide? Yeah, yeah, I know all the stuff
about the fragility of the artistic temperament, the effect of drugs and the
loneliness of the tour. What I mean is, why the hell is it afforded this
bizarre glamour? This whole James-Dean-Kurt-Cobain-only-the-good-die-young
thing is a terrible cliché (Pete Townshend was its founding father. Look at
him now). Bowie latched onto it in the early '70s in his typically arch (and
brilliant) way, but the premature deaths of Hendrix, Morrison and Lennon
have created an industry of tragedy. This trio didn't take their own lives
(well, as far as we know with Morrison), but the framework of the perfect
rock star was set: you gotta go early.
Then they started to drop like flies
at their own hands, and the rock media, and popular culture more generally,
saw suicide as a bona fide way of rubber stamping iconic status. In the UK,
it was the disappearance of Richey Edwards (Manic Street Preachers) which stirred up a media frenzy,
before Kurt's death made it a global phenomenon. Suicide is grubby,
frustrating and inestimably sad for those involved, but a glossy
money-spinner for the unscrupulous in this industry. Now the real problem
comes with the way this attitude has started to permeate music itself. The
appropriation of the suicide motif by faux-miserabilist tossers with an army
of PRs, especially in the many genres of sub-metal that are so expertly
pitched at affluent white middle class teenagers, is infinitely tiresome.
Suicide has been perverted into the rock 'n' roll ethos.
Feeder's drummer, Jon Lee, killed himself in his Miami home in January 2002.
Much of the press reaction -– in stark contrast to the band -– has been
depressing. The two remaining members, bassist Taka Hirose and
singer/songwriter/guitarist Grant Nicholas have spoken movingly about Lee's
suicide, but much of what has been written has been a gross simplification –-
nothing less so than calling this their 'suicide' album. It is supposed to
signal a new departure for the band and be a tribute to Lee. The latter is
true, the former a tenuous conclusion indeed -– something that fits the
prearranged template.
2001 was Feeder's long awaited purple patch. Before the release of that
year's Echo Park, the band (originally from South Wales, before
picking up Hirose in London) had struggled to rise out of semi-obscurity in
the mid-'90s. The 1997 single "High" made a minor dent on the charts,
and successive albums saw them establish a reasonable fan base. They
underwent the nadir of soundtracking a computer game (Gran Turismo) and
seemed to have missed out on mainstream success. But then they pulled
Echo Park out of the bag.
Stuffed with radio-friendly power pop
(think Therpy?-lite) and fueled by the successes of the nonsense-rhyming
single "Buck Rogers", glam-Feeder ascended to the status of festival
headliners. I didn't like them much. I could admire their persistence, but
they seemed stuck in the post-Nirvana mire of the quiet-loud formula that
did for so many other bands. Their successful singles had a really catchy
pop sensibility, but the lyrical and sonic depth of little more than a
novelty record. Now, with the pared down sound of garage rock in its
ascendancy, Feeder even sound a little dated, a relic from the late '90s. I
thought they had peaked, and they would drift away. I was wrong.
With former Skunk Anansie drummer Mark Richardson filling in on drums,
Comfort in Sound has been a massive commercial success in the UK,
Japan and South Africa. Next on the agenda: the US. The release of this
album will be followed by a two-month tour stateside. The sound is certainly
more somber than before, and many of the lyrics are occupied with the
emotional aftermath of Lee's suicide. Indeed, the irritating nonsense rhymes
that undermined parts of Echo Park are almost entirely absent, and,
while Nicholas is a long way from becoming poet laureate, there is a
beguiling simplicity to some of lyrics; certainly the biggest improvement on
the album. This is further helped by the ditching of the studio effects that
distorted Nicholas' voice on previous outings -– leave them to Cher. His
voice may not be the strongest, but benefits from its nakedness, especially
on current UK single "Forget About Tomorrow" and album closer "Moonshine".
However, musically they are still ploughing the same furrow. The chugging
"Godzilla" is monstrous, and the similarly heavy-handed "Helium" isn't much
better. These apart, Feeder still have an ear for a reliable melody though.
For established fans, there is a reassuring predictability to these
three-chord riffs, but if, like me, you were hoping for a shift in ambition
from the band, you may be somewhat underwhelmed. The big marketing push,
aided by the captivating artwork of Aya Takano, has brought the band
deserved success. While they are a bit limited, and aren't pushing any
boundries, this is their best release, a gradual, steady improvement.
Comfort in Sound is occasionally moving, always listenable, but
rarely inspiring.
— 22 May 2003
