Love 2 - Air (No Ripcord Review)

Love 2

Air
Astralwerks Records.

No Ripcord Review: 7
SCQ Rating: 75%

As a result of my late-appreciation for Air, which had me backtracking from Talkie Walkie into their early groundbreaking efforts, I’ve only had one full-length - Pocket Symphony - to anticipate in advance. As nuanced as that 2007 release moved the French duo into cinematic mood-music terrain, its sedated feel had me kicking myself and wishing I had been actively listening to Air during their more adventurous years. That longing has been rewarded with Love 2; a record that churns out futurist lounge like a jukebox painted in neon lights that read “Eat My Beat”. Seriously, that’s one of the song titles.

There’s no mistaking that Nicolas Godin and J.B. Dunckel have returned from the dreamy Pocket Symphony with their sights set on living it up and… rocking out? ‘Do the Joy’ swaggers in with a guitar-line vaguely reminiscent of Kid Rock - only fuzzed out, less obnoxious, and accompanied by a bunch of lazer-synths and incoherent robots - which adequately reclaims their 90s mix of laid-back cool and 10 000 Hrz To Legend weirdness. Telltale reminders aside, Love 2 has little time to toy with Air’s legacy when the duo are filtering 60s surf-rock into their patented space-rock (so… space-surf?) on ‘Be a Bee’, or wind-milling glam-rock riffs over shimmering piano codas on ‘So Light is Her Footfall’. While the majority of these heavier galactical-jaunts crowd the record’s first half, there’s no denying that Air sound more confident than ever, capturing the lavish sophistication of their 00’s albums without sacrificing the guitar.

The spontaneity of Air in starry-eyed band formation hardly detracts from their role as staunch defenders of glamorous electronic-pop, thankfully. ‘Missing the Light of the Day’ bubbles along driving synth-stabs and computerized vocals while the shuffling triphop beats of ‘You Can Tell it to Everybody’ pace the sappier details of Air’s eternally bleeding heart. Even ‘Sing Sang Sung’, which skips breezily through sticky acoustic strings and feather-light lyrics, maintains the same unifying, iridescent veneer that renders ‘Tropical Disease’ the most desirable, swanky disease one could hope to contract. Not that any of this should be wildly unexpected for fans; besides being awesome, Talkie Walkie found Air resigned to being their innocuous, cheesy selves and this dependability has made them such a viable product. You know what you’re getting into with an Air album and, accordingly, any complaints made thereafter should be greeted with the friendly rebuke: “yeah dude, it’s AIR…”. How Godin and Dunckel masterminded this immunity to fair criticism is almost certainly a stroke of luck, not genius, but Love 2, in all its fey-posh-loveliness, deserves the benefit of most doubts.

What is surprising about Air’s latest is its tourist approach to genre and sound, hopscotching back and forth between exotic jams ('Tropical Disease') and chilled-out complexity ('African Velvet'). Following Pocket Symphony’s cohesive-to-a-fault sullenness, it’s perhaps a knee-jerk response that Love 2 is easily the band’s most eclectic offering. Yet despite some overbearing cosmetic differences, these two albums are joined in their sketch-like compositions, as if Godin and Dunckel’s strategy was to ride an idea until all its sonic possibilities were explored. Playing Hyde to Pocket Symphony’s Jeckyll, Love 2 is not only the latest chapter in Air’s space-rock adventure, it’s a sequel that triumphs its predecessor.

(This review was originally published on No Ripcord... )

Talkie Walkie - Air

Talkie Walkie

Air
Astralwerks Records.

SCQ Rating: 87%

If the star-gazing Moon Safari and romantically androgenous 10000hz To Legend left listeners confused over who Air were, dew-eyed dreamers or electronic misfits, their third proper full-length proves they’re the former. Mixed and co-produced by the one and only Nigel Godrich, Talkie Walkie is a bedroom record of the highest order; a collection of love letters never sent because writers (Jean-Benoit Dunckel and Nicolas Godin) can’t be bothered to toss their bedsheets for stamps.

The album opens with the dirge-slow ‘Venus’, a deliberate piano repetition with distant hand-claps that rises into a synth-driven haze. It’s a serious statement of forlorn love that turns on its head for ‘Cherry Blossom Girl’ where its acoustic-led sweetness shows a more positive outlook – even if that sought-after love is no closer to reality. How these songs interact on a musical and thematic level is indicative of all ten tracks here, as these compositions react to each other like a smoothly executed chemistry experiment; where the theme of longing fluctuates on mood, this sequence retorts by leaning on organic or electronic treatment. The glimmering digital tricks pulled on ‘Run’, a sensational chime-stitched production of seamless beauty, fade into the unplugged allure of ‘Universal Traveler’, etc. Due to the wide range of instrumentation – that, and this being some of Air’s finest songwriting ever - Talkie Walkie is continually fresh and enjoyable listening, with just enough mood to avert becoming too sweet.

Although vocals (all belonging to the two Frenchmen, for the first time) are incorporated into the majority of this material, Dunckel and Godin implement some significant instrumentals to strengthen the sequencing. Both halves of Talkie Walkie are clearly marked by cinematic instrumentals (‘Mike Mills’ and the Lost in Translation approved ‘Alone in Kyoto’, respectively) that reinforce and showcase the band’s aptitude for complex arrangements. After the monotonous lumbering of ‘Another Day’ (the only dreary song here), Air present their most contagious song yet in ‘Alpha Beta Gaga’, a whistle-led hook that is assisted by strings, banjo, and warped synth. After nearly a full record of self-imposed isolation, ‘Alpha Beta Gaga’ is the happy-go-lucky soundtrack of a love attained; an emotional release that finds its serious partner in the pillow-soft, banjo-plucked ‘Biological’. Although Air’s lyrics certainly appeal to lonely pedestrians searching for companionship, Talkie Walkie is a record best-suited for lovers to share.

After the rollercoaster of their first two albums, which saw the band praised as electronic leaders then later scorned for their adventurousness, I find it interesting that Limited Editions of this album come attached with a DVD of live performance material borrowing heavily from their earlier days of critical success. Why Astralwerks would feel the need to remind us of the Moon Safari-era is no mystery – a lot was riding on Air for this album – but after hearing Talkie Walkie, the DVD feels like a cautious step backwards; the only lapse in confidence this record possesses.

Pocket Symphony - Air

Pocket Symphony

Air
EMI Records.


SCQ Rating: 74%

Pocket Symphony, the band’s fourth proper LP in ten years, is irrefutably beautiful; a mix of crystalline piano, spacey acoustics, and thin vocals to comfort your headphones through cloudy wanderings. And although the band has achieved their goal of making an ideal song-cycle for the I-pod generation (as their title suggests), Air have certainly limited their talents to that singular vision, and worse, welcomed their sound into the dreaded leagues of ‘background music’.

The well-placed ‘Alone in Kyoto’ on Talkie Walkie felt appropriate as a cinematic close to that amazing album, but stretched over Pocket Symphony’s twelve songs, Air’s imaginary film scores lose their edge and become languid suites woven together. Nearly every song feels designed for soundtrack purposes; the sleep-ridden, what-to-wear solitude of Monday mornings with ‘Photograph’, watching your office-crush during lunch-hour with ‘Redhead Girl’, or your evening tram-ride home in ‘Somewhere Between Waking and Sleeping’. Despite their understatedly lovely arrangements, these songs drift by like so many unmemorable stages of routine in our 9-5 days, and while they are soothing, they’re hardly exciting.

Air still manage to captivate us on several songs, however. ‘Mer Du Japon’ is an all-too-brief exercise in synth-pop, addictively energizing compared to its surrounding songs, while ‘Napalm Love’ is a haiku buzzing with a similar combination of synth, drum machine and piano. ‘One Hell of a Party’ displays the band’s recent love of rare Japanese instruments (the Koto and Shamisen) in a sparse but thrilling ballad featuring Jarvis Cocker’s breathy vocals. Even ‘Once Upon a Time’, at five minutes and featuring the same unwavering piano arpeggio, never ceases to be anything but classic Air.

The most surprising aspect of this album, perhaps, is Air’s nonchalant exit from electronic music altogether. While their organic sound was audible in Talkie Walkie, it was countered with some sparkling effects. Here we find the band completely unplugged, and while they prove that their songwriting doesn’t need effects to hide behind, I’m surely not the only fan who will miss their adventurous side.