JOE JACKSON - Hope And Fury

An indomitable spirit, that of Joe Jackson: nearly fifty years of a career spent grappling with a multitude of stylistic languages, between highs ("Jumpin' Jive", "Mr. Joe Jackson Presents: Max Champion In 'What A Racket!'") and lows ("Laughter And Lust", "Heaven And Hell") and a string of masterpieces ("Look Sharp!", "Night And Day", "Body And Soul") that, like his contemporary Elvis Costello, marked the post-punk/new wave era with a musicality of erudite, finely singer-songwriterly traits.

Having recalibrated his big-band-style flair à la "Jumpin' Jive" on his most recent album, dedicated to the music-hall genre, Joe Jackson now revives the latin-jazz, pop-rock and funky-soul cadences of "Night And Day", wrapping them in the same George Gershwin-esque orchestrations that underscored the finest deeds of his career.

A musically flawless and refined work, "Hope And Fury" offers more than one point of contention, not only for the less charitable critics but for fans too: the disenchantment and irony with which the English artist tackles weighty themes risk being misread as mere superficiality. Even the instrumental mastery on display (Graham Maby is back on board) exposes the album to those finely conceptual critiques that have claimed noble victims in the past (among others, Steely Dan, Paul Weller and Elvis Costello).

So what does "Hope And Fury" tell us about Joe Jackson now in his seventies? Certainly that the excellent "Fool" wasn't just a fleeting illusion of a return to form after an unremarkable period, and that the man behind "Steppin' Out" hasn't given up his role as ironic critic of contemporary socio-political mores – just look at the lyrics of the furious latin-funk-soul of "I'm Not Sorry" – and remains one of the sharpest at sketching characters and stories in little more than three minutes, as proven by the pop-tango of "See You In September", with its finely noir cinematic and theatrical touches.

That Joe Jackson has chosen to seem playful (the Mexican-flavoured rock'n'roll of "Do Do Do") while at the same time once again embracing working-class concerns, touching on a delicate subject like the pandemic lockdown with the splendid, ever-shifting melody of "End Of The Pier", is like a game of mirrors, where the deceptively pleasant sounds conceal a far deeper, sharper undertow.

That "Hope And Fury" isn't immune to cliché is no contradiction: they're the very same clichés the artist pillories in the pop-punk-ska-rumba of "Welcome To Burning-By-Sea", but they're also the same ones that have made his style so recognisable, as shown by the brilliant piano touch that runs riot on "Fabolous People" or the elegant pop-jazz sketch dressed in glam backing vocals on "Made God Laughs".

"Hope And Fury" is a record that musically offers more than one reason to be appreciated, even allowing for the odd sophisti-pop excess, which in truth deserves praise for its lean, spirited sonic staging.

The less brilliant lyrics are left to narrate the chaos of contemporary civilisation, in language balanced between populism and rebellion, and it's tempting to think that the cover image of Joe Jackson sipping a coffee while a fire spreads behind him was a symbolic choice: a warning to a society that seems to have sacrificed humanity to the god of economic wellbeing, as fatuous as it is unreal, leaving us with nothing but hope and fury.

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26/04/2026