FOXYGEN - Hang

Having set aside the ambitions of “…And Star Power”, Foxygen return to the scene of the crime, drawing once again on another page of the Rundgren method; after the glories of “Something Anything”, this time the reference model is “Faithful”: that is, a replica bordering on outright plagiarism of a series of musical totems from the 60s and 70s.

Sam France and Jonathan Rado brought in notable figures such as Matthew E. White, the Lemon Twigs and Steven Drodz of Flaming Lips, recording a studio album for the first time with the support of a forty-piece symphony orchestra conducted by Trey Pollard.

“Hang” is part of a triptych already planned back in 2013, which, besides the previous double album, included a further chapter titled “Nightmare Man”, meant to close the circle with a tribute to the 80s.

Presented at the time as a record in the style of Harry Nilsson, “Hang” puts songwriting back at the centre of Foxygen's vintage digressions, and is in many ways a return to their origins. A pretentious, cocky album that revives the eternal dilemma surrounding the American duo: genius or cunning?

My stubborn insistence on following Foxygen's exploits is perhaps pure masochism. Their citationism sometimes delights me, often irritates me, but I can't help but recognise that the duo has a method of its own, which is really a non-method, a surface-level approach that lets their music slide like a razor over a drop of oil.

The album's title is a self-quotation: “Hang” was in fact the title of the final track on “…And Star Power”, yet another goliardic in-joke that adds nothing to the deliberate inconsistency of the whole, thirty minutes of Frankenstein songs, where the only real melody hides behind the theatrical-kitsch sound of “On Lankerishim”.

Elsewhere, mockery and the perverse game of metamorphosis without rules or syntax prevail. “Hang” is musically the perfect archetype of Zygmunt Bauman's liquid society, everything is uncertain, fluid, volatile, wavering, devoid of future prospects, but how artistically relevant this may be is impossible to say.

It remains hard to tell whether behind Foxygen's cynicism lies any real creative awareness: the Bowie-esque hodgepodge (in the culinary sense) of “Mrs. Adams” or the mix of Scott Walker and sonic Frenchisms in “Upon A Hill” and “Trauma” are prime examples of the lack of ideas that has long since turned the group into a charming Broadway-musical travelling circus.

A track like "America" perfectly sums up the sheer vacuity of albums like "Hang": locked into an endless, relentless evocation of styles and cultural icons from their homeland, the band loses its bearings and sinks into a patchwork that's meant to come across as a playful nod to Frank Zappa, before fizzling out into the framework of a cartoon soundtrack.

The two opening tracks deserve the 2017 award for sheer pandering: "Follow The Leader" is pure Aor dressed up as indie-rock, a song that would sit comfortably on a Boz Scaggs or Hall & Oates record, but here it's just a pointless crowd-pleaser coasting on a decent orchestral arrangement; "Avalon" is a harmless "Grease"-style rock'n'roll number that the band turns into a shambles with cheap dance-hall tricks and cabaret-style gimmicks.

Yes, I'll admit it: ultimately "Hang" did entertain me in spots, but the overriding feeling is frustration: nothing in these 30-odd minutes managed to win over my heart or my imagination.

Foxygen's output feels less and less like a psychedelic revival and more like a psychiatric one. Sam France and Jonathan Rado aspired to the role of modern-day Mothers Of Invention, but at best they can only dream of becoming the new Sha Na Na.

Enjoy.

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20/01/2017