The Ting Tings
We Started Nothing

THE REVIEW

Lately, I often find myself dining at one of those trendy sushi restaurants that are all the rage these days, you know, the ones with the conveyor belt featuring a thousand mini-portions of more or less Japanese food. Even if it's a franchise, of course, and reheated.

Last time I sat down, while waiting for the wasabi, I thought that the Ting Tings are like sushi. They have that easy flavor, like take-away, like yes-I'll-have-dinner-but-casually, vaguely posh, but likable.

Let's take maki, for example, in all its variations. It's basically the union of two main ingredients: rice and fish. The first creates the base of flavor, harmonizes the palate, does the dirty work: in a word, it arranges. Rice is Jules De Martino. The fish, on the other hand, with its dominant flavor, with the prominent and solo note, who could it be, since we're talking about a duo? Brilliant brainiacs, it's her, Katie White.

She plays the indie fashionable girl who goes to all the All Tomorrow Parties, adoring Wharhol and looking at you with that expression that says "I have a brain. I'm hiding it on purpose, because that's how I want it, and because I'm cunning". He, nothing, stands aside, is a bit of a gadget geek (actually, he is), awkwardly joins the only dance they make him do, increasing the likability quotient of the ensemble.

The sushi restaurants, as we were saying. Mini-portions usually delightful, occasionally horrible, pass by you on the conveyor belt. Yes, amidst all this bounty, there always sneaks in the horrible bitter little salad or the most indigestible fry.

"We started nothing" (at least applause for the title), Ting Tings' debut work, is just like that. It starts by landing a one-two punch that, even if it's not exactly a masterpiece, still makes you think "hey, these guys know how to put together a verse and a chorus". Which is not a small feat. Indeed, in the pop context in which the record operates, it's the most important characteristic, and few groups possess it, and for only a short time.

The sound is immediately clear: fresh, flirty, suitable for a fashion aperitif not just in London, but also less refined, like in Milan. A cool semi-drunken happy hour, there you go. The first track, well, it's almost needless to say, you'll all know it by heart. MTV played it every 5 minutes this summer. A powerful single, minimalist as the whole album will be, very catchy, even more sly, and decidedly successful.

With "That's not my name", unexpectedly, the Ting Tings do even better. More slyness, more coquettishness, more indie cheekiness, more self-confidence in their own means. And an evident ability to blend very few, very few elements into an irresistible context. Songs that burst into nothingness like soap bubbles, I agree. Light, very light as we imagine them played in the umpteenth rock club of the umpteenth city. There you go, the city: the sound is decidedly urban. Nothing even remotely bucolic here.

So far, great dishes, the conveyor belt hasn't disappointed as I initially thought. But what did I just eat? I already don't remember anymore. However, I remember the drop in tone of the third track, which reuses elements from the first two but without the verve and without that particular melodic magic that develops between arrangement and melody in well-made songs. The track doesn’t work. Too bitter, too horseradish. What's next?

Next is "Traffic Light", a cute track that oddly reminded me of the more banal melodies of Bjork and the slower ones of the Pipettes. Strange mental associations, I agree, for a song with futuristic music and retro vocal embellishments, almost like the 60s. Not bad. It’s the rice (Jules) that’s a bit overdone. The fifth track is excellent. The most new-wave of the bunch, if you can say so. Winks at Franz Ferdinand as well as at the 80s discodance and has a nice bass line, supporting the guitar which has style precisely because it varies very little. You can dance to it with pleasure. The fish (Katie) here sometimes has a too air-headed and sly flavor, but in the energy of the song, it’s a forgivable sin.

The conveyor belt serves us, as course number six, "Keep your head". And here I taste unexpected flavors. It’s basically a sterilized, depressurized garage-song, cleaned from head to toe and homogenized for the easy digestion of everyone. Nothing special. The guitar riff insists too much on the same loop, and the occasional synthpop keyboards make it a bit, well, silly. I imagined it played by the very first Hole, sung by the rusty voice of Courtney Love that was. Something charming could have come out of it. And here’s the quintessential sushi song, track number seven. A (J-)pop minimal that progresses between straight bass with a darkwave flavor and a nice melody dear to Tweepop. I even thought of the Heavenly. Short, disposable, tasty.

The piano at the beginning of "Be the One" panics me. I fear they want to be serious, and that horrifies me. But, within ten seconds, there they are: playful discopop as usual, good just for nodding your head, while the brain isn't touched or even mildly teased by the said track. Anonymous, except for a couple of appreciable crescendos. It opens up your stomach: it doesn’t satisfy me...what’s coming next?

At nine there's a strange track, as strange as a Ting Tings song can be. More rough, woody than the others. The feeling is like licking plaster, and it's not that bad. Other groups, far more martial, would achieve much better results in the same field, but who cares. This song also flew by. Without particular merits, of course, but it went down like water. Speaking of which, I’ve run out of drinks. Sapporo is really not a bad beer, I didn't know they made such good ones in Japan.

Grand (?) finale for the title track which, after "Keep Your Head", is the second fake-garage track of the CD. Not much to say about it. Some brass inserts give the song an almost-soul flavor, tempered by flashy prodigious effects as if to say "yes, we put in the strings, but we stay on track". No crescendo, no grandeur, no farewell. The CD ends just as it began: sparkling, trendy. But with a song uglier than the first ones.

Many will denigrate or, worse, insult this album from the heights of presumed objectivity. In my opinion, it’s an honest CD of dishonest pop, and for the most part, it works. Let me explain: honest because it’s absolutely clear in its sly, winking, cunning, and therefore dishonest nature. If you don't like it because it's False Metal, well, I have no retort to that.

If listening to Avril Lavigne is like going to McDonald's, with the Ting Tings you go straight to the Japanese place folks. Which is still cheap and always reheated food, but for those who believe they are more sophisticated. And, anyway, you can really enjoy yourself there and have a great time.