The The
Naked Self

A few days ago, I was contemplating the number of reviews I have written in my career as a keen music listener. Between Debaser, other sites, and various fanzines I frequented in my distant (sonic) youth, I believe I've surpassed the six hundred mark. Quite a number, and it's a source of personal pride.

This introduction is to remind you once again, I think I've already touched on the subject before, of my constant "difficulty" in discussing albums and especially figures who are fundamental pillars of my myriad listenings. Matt Johnson and his The The belong to this select category. I had been pondering for weeks how to pen down NakedSelf (that's how it's written, without spaces, as clearly seen on the album cover), but I lacked the courage to kickstart yet another Debaser page. Then suddenly yesterday, I had the classic epiphany; and as so often happens in these instances, it was my mountains, my solitary hikes that provided the much-desired push.

I climbed to the peak of Verosso, at an altitude of 2444 meters, in the beloved Alta Val Bognanco; a tough, steep ascent that was challenging at times due to the elevation gain I had to overcome. Exposed ridges, an annoying and treacherous north wind complicating my long ascent. With a fixed rope to grip for overcoming the most dangerous part of the trail; keeping in check my age-old fears, always having suffered from vertigo. Then finally, after a last stretch over unstable stone fields, I reached the summit. The light, the paradisiacal view that only those who know the mountain can understand. After the fears, the darkness, and the dangers of the climb, I was overwhelmed by the infinite beauty of these places, so silent and imposing.

The cover of NakedSelf perfectly mirrors the sensations I experienced yesterday. A faint but precious light struggling to hold its own against the dense, oppressive darkness dominating all around. It's the band's latest album and the first in which there is no face, human or animal, on the cover image. A random choice by The The's leader? In my opinion, no.

It's not an easy time for Matt; for about seven years, aside from an album of Hank Williams covers, he's chosen silence. Record labels have dropped him roughly due to his surly demeanor and his less-than-pleasantly caustic lyrics; even the faithful Johnny Marr has vacated his spot on guitar; a valuable and productive six-string as in previous masterpieces Dusk and Mind Bomb. He struggles to put the band back together, and a positive turn is provided by Trent Reznor's Nothing Records label, which takes on the music project.

Little changes in Matt's musical approach; sharp, gritty Pop-Rock-Soul ballads; there's no lack of lightness, calmness, and soft, dreamy atmospheres. A work of contrasts with tracks that are diametrically opposed in sound and tone. There's even room for the punk-like harshness (after all, Matt grew up in late '70s London) of the overwhelming and disorienting "Voidy Numbness" and "Salt Water."

The claustrophobic atmospheres, with not-so-hidden industrial moods and sounds, of the opening "Boiling Point"; the bittersweet progression of the subsequent "Shrunken Man." The Pop sensibility discernible in listening to "The Whisperers" (complete with falsetto) and "December Sunlight." The iridescent and delicate "Soul Catcher"; the obsessive and hypnotic "Global Eyes" that exudes scents of Black and Soul so dear to Matt.

The usual and offensive lyrics deal with alienation, urban squalor, and corruption.

The work was released in the early months of 2000; from here, Matt would disappear again from the scene, only producing a few soundtracks over all these years. Until his unexpected return to concerts happened recently. Could this be the prelude to a new album after nearly twenty years?

I'm one of the first to hope so.

Ad Maiora.