Released: 22/05/2020
Genre: anything you want
The 1975 have come a long, long way since their debut album a mere 7 years ago. The inoffensive synth-rock that dominated their self-titled LP was catchy and well-produced enough to earn a name for themselves, but ambitious is hardly the word to define it with. With each subsequent release, however, their sound got more diverse and experimental, their reputation rightfully shifted from teen favourites to critic darlings, they’ve made it to a headliner spot at Reading and with each success, their – and frontman Matty Healy’s – ambitions and confidence grew.
It grew so much that in the eyes of many, it turned into pretentiousness. If Healy’s purposely overacted flamboyant rockstar-schtick on stage weren’t too much for his critics, stating in interviews that they’re the defining band of the decade and the greatest band in the world at the moment with a straight face certainly didn’t come off as a sympathetic gesture. In his defence, their last album, A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships does have every potential to be remembered in the long run as a definitive “the-2010s-through-millenial-eyes” album – it also contained the best song of 2018, Love it if We Made It – and its multi-genre exploration proved defiantly that they’re capable of much more than 80s inspired synthpop bops.
Still, unless it has the impact of Nevermind, one outstanding album doesn’t make someone era-defining no matter how precisely it reflects the feelings of a generation. It takes more than that, and thankfully, the band seems to agree, as ABIIOR was only the first instalment of the previously announced Music for Cars-era. Its companion piece, Notes on a Conditional Form is where they set out to solidify themselves as “the greatest band in the world”: it comes off of a successful predecessor, but it’s bolder than that, longer, more experimental, more ambitious, and it’s released only 6 months after its prequel! (Or well, it was planned to be, then the gap ended up 18 months long – still a rather short period between two releases in this age, nevertheless). What else can convince non-believers that The 1975 is, in fact, the best thing that ever happened – as Matty sings on closer Guys – than a 22-track record containing all music genres that have ever been invented?
At least that was the intent, it would explain putting 22 songs and wandering into this many directions within an album. Because without such an overly ambitious goal, it’s hard to justify its length. The problem with Notes on a Conditional Form is, even though it’s riddled with memorable moments all throughout, it ultimately fails in reaching it’s supposed goal: to create the definitive, all-encompassing masterpiece of our times. For that, it would have to be more cohesive and smoothly constructed – instead, it ends up sounding as a portfolio of whatever styles the band have been experimenting with, slapped on one after another.
The fact that there are sprinkles of a consciously created flow here and there makes it even more confusing that the end product is so incohesive. The way the Marilyn Manson-esque anarcho-punk of People bursts in after the final words of Greta Thunberg’s intro speech, “It’s time to rebel!” delivers a satisfying payoff to a 4-minute speech whose place on the album would have been questionable otherwise. Beautiful orchestral interludes segue into and out Frail State of Mind, emphasizing the already excellent track, but they disappear afterwards. Finally, the touching and sincere duo of Don’t Worry and Guys is a fitting closure for the album after a string of largely electronic tracks. Between these examples, however, the album feels directionless.
And that’s a shame because the sheer number of great songs is still outstanding: whether it’s light-hearted country on Roadkill, relaxing “mindshower” on The Birthday Party or a two-step beat-driven contemplation on discomfort in one’s self on Think There’s Something You Should Know, the band can pull it off, further proving their impressive versatility. Even more impressive are the moments where they use their explorations to build on their established sounds: the main melody of What Should I Say is very typical 1975, but its minimalist electronica and ethereal vocalisations by FKA Twigs make it sound progressive. Nothing Revealed/Everything Denied is an even stranger mixture of jazzy piano, gospel-tinged choir and heavily auto-tuned rap, but it somehow comes together largely thanks to its rousing hook.
The irresistible melodies of The 1975 were always cornerstones of their popularity, and these examples show that their experimentations work the best when they’re built around such a melody. When that is largely absent, even the very capable production skills of drummer George Daniel aren’t enough to make a memorable track, as Yeah I Know or Having No Head exemplify. Shiny Collarbone is another miss, as Jamaican dancehall is probably the furthest it falls from a “typical” – if there’s such a thing anymore – The 1975 song, and sounds out of place even on a record as diverse as Notes. It shows that while the album wants to prove that they’re capable of pulling off anything and everything, sometimes it ends up proving they’re the best at what we’ve known them for already.
I’m talking about the two singles with the closest resemblance to the original 1975 style, both of which are clear highlights of the album. Me & You Together Song sounds like the perfect ending song to every single late 90s teen movie, being glamorously catchy and just the right amount of saccharine. And even that is overshadowed by If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know), their best mid-tempo 80s inspired jam yet, reaching peak cheesiness with its sax solo, and offering the biggest arena-chorus they’ve ever done. It seems like they’re losing interest in making this sort of music as opposed to the experimental stuff, but while evolving is a good thing, they’re simply too good at this ultra-catchy, feel-good pop-rock to leave it all completely behind.
Notes on a Conditional Form is a difficult album to rate. On the one hand, it falls short of reaching its high ambitions, but on the other, there’s still a higher quantity of noteworthy tracks than many albums contain entirely. On one side, the appeal comes from how adventurous the record is, and how far The 1975 is able to expand its sound, on the flip side, the best moments of the album are – by their standards – routine exercises, rather than experimentations. It’s a record by a massively talented band which seems unsure in how to utilize that talent the most. If they really want to become the greatest band of this era, they need to figure this out soon, and then they’ll be able to create their definitive masterpiece without the need to pack it with 20+ tracks. For now, we only hear patches of that potential “masterpiece”, and while these patches don’t make the record less exhausting and disorientated, they’re still worth grinding through the excess.
Verdict: 7,5/10
AllThingsSixString 