CHUMBAWAMBA - The Boy Bands Have Won

Around here, few people know that Chumbawamba aren't just “the band behind Tubthumping” – the 1997 pop/dance hit that brought them an unexpected and equally fleeting shot at international success. The Leeds outfit – in truth an open, ever-shifting collective with few fixed members – boasts a career spanning twenty-five years and more: two and a half decades of activity marked by dizzying shifts in direction and style, starting from their anarcho-punk origins, moving through the heavy injections of pop, electronica and dance of the 90s, right up to the stripped-down lineup and folk turn of recent years. A winding artistic path with at least two constants: active political commitment, the true rudder steering the Chumbawamba project, and a love for vocal harmonies of seraphic perfection.

This latest work follows up on predecessor “A Singsong And A Scrap” (2005) along the path of a folk sound with pronounced pop leanings: bucolic atmospheres, ethereal acoustic guitar and accordion chords, echoes of village brass bands, the stunning perfection of a cappella singing, all paired with acid-tongued lyrics aimed at obtuseness, intolerance, media-induced stupefaction, and other modern wonders. The title itself, rendered in circus-style lettering that fills the entire cover, is a long, heartfelt appeal for authenticity in making music: let's not let the boy bands win!

The record runs to 25 tracks, some of which are little more than musical haikus lasting just a few seconds, like the opening “When An Old Man Dies” or the enchanting “You Watched Me Dance”: perfect vocal interlocking over a bagpipe drone, with a sampled old piano in the background, closing on a wistful, street-corner accordion waltz. A refined attention to sonic detail, all wrapped up in exactly one minute.

Every song has a story to tell. Chumbawamba have fun paying tribute to traditional figures of British folk (“Lord Bateman’s Motorbike”); they take aim at Lord Bono and Manchester United (“All Fur Coat & No Knickers”); they portray Wenceslao Moguel, who faced a firing squad and survived to tell the tale (“El Fusilado”); they recount news stories and everyday injustice (“Waiting For The Bus”). There's also room for a fierce satire of social networks and the sometimes appalling human landscape they reveal (“Add me”).

There are numerous guest appearances from the more overtly socially-minded corner of the English scene (Oysterband on “Hull or Hell”; Ron Bailey on “Word Bomber”). And it's precisely in the message, in speaking in big, clear letters, in refusing to give up on protest at a time when it's so unfashionable, that the strength and raison d'être of Chumbawamba veterans lies. Leaning on traditional musical forms is a coherent choice, but the aggressiveness of the lyrics doesn't always blend perfectly with the velvety shapes of the ballad. The pursuit of the sublime, both in the harmonies and in the sound treatment, ends up draining some of the shine from these stubborn, dissenting anthems; at times an icy sheen settles over words that would otherwise burn with fire. It's sad to say, but Chumbawamba's music risks being too “polished” to be truly convincing.

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03/04/2009