Lawrence, yes; the one from Felt. Their voice, ink, and literary ennui.
Today it's this, Mozart Estate, having passed through Denim and Go-Kart Mozart.
That same Lawrence who stood emaciated on the cover of "Crumbling the Antiseptic Beauty".
And I, with an open heart, wide-eyed, can only be grateful to him. This is the contemporary music to hold tight and cherish:
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba Codice a barre
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba Codice a barre.
A satire on consumerism, remaining the sole paradigm, unchallenged. More easygoing than corrosive, more humorous than mordant. Coming from a cheerful "reminder" rather than a critic.
Lawrence unravels an amusing jumble: 80s electro pop, 70s soundtracks ("Grease"), Monty Python-style vaudeville, new wave (especially Sparks), glam rock, bubblegum choruses, choruses that incessantly wash over other choruses, doo-wop, indie pop, and rock.
The fluttering of pop melodies over synth rhythms, however, starts from the judicious tones of piano ballads and often grows and emphasizes with the barrelhouse piano. In a playful and carefree game, the aesthetics here is the triumph of keyboards and synthesizers (instead of the intertwining guitars in the indefinite poetry that was Felt).
Then Lawrence roughs up punk guitar riffs, seals with drum machines the continuous tempo changes, while interludes burst with synthetic handclaps. There's no lack of a nod to Kevin Rowland of "Don't Stand Me Down", Marc Bolan, Mark E. Smith (reminding us that his mentor, John Peel, hated Felt).
As jovial as it is crooked, "Pop-up! Ker-ching! And the Possibilities of Modern Shopping," a soundtrack for suburbs dominated by cockney accents, sprays colorful gems each time; see Relative Poverty, Before And After The Bar Code, I Wanna Murder You, Vanilla Gorilla.
All this is Lawrence of Birmingham today. All as a negation of Felt. Not of himself.
Lawrence, mummy's flesh, a wandering musician rather than independent. Talented, wild, and vagabond. Among idiosyncrasies and impertinences, scattered witticisms and lively zeal.
I'm living in relative poverty
Living on ten pounds a day
Oh my God, ten pounds a day
I'm living in relative poverty
A-wop-bop-a-loo-la
Ten a day
Take a look at the shop doors, huddled on the floor
You’ll see men with no future, they've been wiped out by war
The best British brass won't kick everyone's ass
I don't know what's going on anymore.
And if Lawrence can still make us believe that the peak of his aspirations is to release the perfect pop song that would guarantee him a bank account (more than the teased engagement with Kate Moss)? It would mean he's a nutcase with intervals of lucidity.
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