The Kinks
Arthur

THE REVIEW

Another rare gem from this group led by Ray Davies. And to say it's a half-copy of the previous one, the formula hasn’t changed: short songs, dreamy arrangement, subtle and sharp lyrics. Perhaps not as perfect, because 1-2 songs slightly deviate from the rest; not due to the difference in arrangement or lyrics, but simply due to the different sensations they convey. Yet it remains one of the peaks of pop music, and not only.

Every melody seems interrupted and then resumed by the song's lyrics, as if it were a dialogue between the two parts, which do not blend but integrate. And it's incredible how little has been said about a group that deserves laurels for the ease of composition, the variety of themes, the soft voice of Davies. Every song on this album is an anthem unto itself, despite each being connected to another. Every song creates an intimate world, with a style that will characterize Ray in (almost) every composition. Davies scrutinizes within each song seeking something magical that characterizes and makes it unique.
And it's fortunate that Davies managed to find a place for each song, even if only in his mind, I think, because listening to this album transports you to a world halfway between physical and metaphysical, leaving you suspended between the voice and the arrangement, holding you there, sure of having reached your paradise.
As you float mid-air in this strange, ironic, and dreamy world, made of servants dressing up as princesses and feeling well that way, of old glories of the British Empire and statesmen, of distant lands of happiness, you realize what you are seeing: the melancholy of an unrealisable world, where there is no place for metropolises, crowded restaurants, gray cities. A world that is not built for man, that is not his business. Man has managed to touch it only for an instant, but then it escaped, lost in the parabola of consumerism and the American dream. And man followed it blindly.

The record opens with the splendid "Victoria", a fierce critique against rigid Victorian morality, where sex was taboo and there was no social justice; it feels like diving into a bittersweet Hardy story, for the delicacy of touch and the anger of the lyrics, contrasting with the apparent lightheartedness of the melody. Then "Yes Sir, No Sir" appears out of nowhere, an overture worthy of White Rabbit, a sort of march towards freedom, denied by the prevailing orders of the authorities. A freedom unattainable, as "Some Mother's Son", which tells of an ordinary son of an ordinary mother, who goes to war and dies there, stands as proof. And only flowers remain of him, and a mother to remember him.
Then comes "Drivin'", another attack on war, but viewed as genocide, mass extermination in the world, which gives way to "Brainwashed", a symptom of the individual's alienation, seemingly moving the mouth to say his first words, as if he only just learned to speak. Now it's the turn of "Australia", an overpowering chorus, ranging from the rhythmic tones at the start of the song to an ending that surprises the listener, pseudo-psychedelic with blues chimes.

After concluding side A, the listener can finally hear the masterpiece of the album, to be listened to quietly, because the parabola against consumerism and all identical streets (we are in 1969, let’s remember) has more meaning. As this song quietly fades away, "Mr Churchill Says" begins, a ridiculing portrait of the Prime Minister, and then "She Bought A Hat Like Princess Marina" follows, narrating a poor woman pretending to be a rich lady. Then comes the second peak of the album, "Young And Innocent Days", where adolescent memories condense like clouds of sugar, where along with the regret for those days, a veiled critique of those magnificent innocent years appears. It’s now the moment of "Nothing To Say", a classic Davies ballad, and the album closes with "Arthur", the common man, already sung in "Do You Remember Walter", for whom the happy days have passed.

This is an album that leaves a bittersweet aftertaste, leaving the eyes veiled by a very light mist, to be listened to on one of those cold, sunny afternoons, when the sky still smiles at you and you wait for summer. Or winter, depending on your preference.