TWIN SHADOW - Confess

Rascally nostalgia. The usual wall of memories to crash into, but without getting a scratch. In fact, maybe you take a run-up and try again. As protective shields you'll need a quiff hairstyle, a thin sparrowhawk-style moustache, a leather jacket, turned-up jeans with colourful socks on show, and bulbous black shoes. A bucolic atmosphere, a rainy late spring, motorbikes roaring down the lane, knowing boyish glances, the enthusiasm of a vintage TV commercial, and within the space of a few seconds — five, say — the trick is done: young again, enthusiastic, heroically aimless, breathless but happy, even if nobody quite knows why — which is even better.

Twin Shadow has reopened his own mini-store dedicated to memories — for those who actually lived through them, that is; for anyone who wasn't around twenty-five years ago, it might look like a game of references passed off as something fresh, a huckster to whom the story has been told so well that he comes across as a veteran himself. So, anyone who wants to can sit in a circle and leaf through the makeshift photo album of the school trip, the first outings out of town, the after-school hangouts, the endless phone calls, the kisses stolen in the dark of a cinema, the house parties in the shadow of a turntable with a slow dance record looming. The second chapter of George Lewis Jr.'s confessions lives up to the promise of his blazing debut, riding on synthetic sounds and sketching rhythmic, evocative, always sinuous, glossy arrangements — the sentimentally perfect replica of 80s synth pop, the kind first stamped with the MTV logo, often melancholic, full of attention-grabbing melodic hooks. But it's not instantly gratifying, it burns slow, to the point that it might not come as a surprise to hear complaints, even accusations of a lack of inspiration.

No need to worry: a few more listens and the Twin Shadow-ian skill reveals itself over a little more than three-quarters of an hour. From the vocal whispers that turn into the anthem of "Golden Light", to the guitars stained with flanger in the style of Andy Summers on "You Call Me On", to the dark-dance sprint of "Five Seconds" — a bit as if Billy Idol had taken the place of Midge Ure in the heart of Billy Currie, bringing Steve Stevens and Keith Forsey along with him — the result: a hit single to dance to on an afternoon, in 1982, today who knows. And George even dares to rewrite history, making the anti-diva of synth pop Morrissey fall at the feet of a Roland Jupiter, right after making him turn up his nose at an intro "slightly" inspired by "Karma Chameleon" ("The One"). Could Twin Shadow be the carefree alter ego of the more arty John Maus? Or maybe he's Black ("Wonderful Life") in disguise? Who knows! Meanwhile "Run My Heart" is pure adolescent poetry, the softest tissue for the heaviest tears, the friend to lean on, the sudden tragic phone bill, the photo hidden under the pillow, the most poignant memory, the new "The Boys Of Summer". Could it be... maybe... perhaps, Twin Shadow has always lived in that hotel? The song remains the same, though... how lovely.

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04/07/2012