![]() ![]() Raisonné, including a tsunami-like “ Take Me Out” and the infamous “ Michael”, both from their self-titled ATLien Franz fans were treated to all manner of bituminous tidbits Occur even in the quietest life and can never be completely expressed toĪnother. Songs brimming in oncoming longing and the kind of apocalyptic revelations that AĬollective celebration of Franz Ferdinand’s music means a night spilling with Suspense thriller set at a wedding – mad visions, foxy hours, hybrid states. Impressive and monumentally inspiring is all.Īll told, the Atlanta stop on the Hits to the Head tour unfurled like a Her stand-up drum solo at this Atlanta show hit like Benny Lynch and sounded like someone practicing rhythmic riflery. Lastly, the pink agave and wasabi mousse of this bunch is undeniably the backbeat-babe that is Audrey Tait, having formally taken over drumming duties from Paul Thompson, who amiably retired in the latter part of last year. Julian Corrie is the liquid nitrogen here – so many explosive and energy-exuding uses for the multi-instrumentalist techno-signature he deftly scrawls across every Franz feat. Dino Bardot telegraphs a cobalt danger in every understated, perfectly executed measure of guitar break. Bassist Bob Hardy has never placed himself among rock’s wildcatters and hell-raisers but rather remains one of its premier conveyors of congeniality. ![]() If your ears are new to Franz Ferdinand’s duvetyne district of Glaswegian growl, please meet the band. Surely you Scottish supremos know by now that the arrowhead of the pen, when poorly aimed and dully sharpened, is generally only ever so nubby out of jerry-built jealousy and all that class of carry-on. Often misunderstood and mislabeled by misguided critics, Franz Ferdinand since have conducted a 20-year music career in a beautiful breakaway republic of their own delineation and seemingly with the famous ethos of Carter Bays ever close at hand as a guiding principle: “I am an omnivorous fan of creativity.” The very elements of change and experimentation that would often have the crusted brothel creepers of the music press harping about ‘unrealized potential’ are that very real (and still full of velocity and momentum!) potential being artfully realized. Scottish shy-swagger been spotlighted on the Big Smoke stages of the world. Not since “ We Could Send Letters” by The Aztec Camera had so much Paul McCartney, it certainly should have been afterward: these ultramodernĮaglets from the dear green place do warrior pirouettes with genre andĮxpectation – and therein lies the mark of merit. Imaginatively and compellingly cover everything from Lee “Scratch” Perry to Tales: Franz Ferdinand, the 2014 compilation album wherein Kapranos and Krew Voice with the skilled precision of a wire-lather, his are the sounds of aĬomplex gender–so unconfiding as it benignly and beguilingly tells you A slinky sparkle-hound who uses his Zephyrean baritone For all their sculpted vogue, there has not been even so much as Sexy art that illuminated the stark difference between beauty-hunger and ![]() ![]() Contemporaries in that last, glorious wave of aughts rock, Franz Ferdinand themselves have always made intensely ![]()
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