Late of the Pier’s Fantasy Black Channel has finally landed in the States after appearing in the UK last August. It would be easy to joke that it’s further procrastination from a band that spent an inordinately long amount of time preparing their debut album (they’ve been around for more than seven years). Before then, they had a series of singles. Considering that LotP stuffed four of them into the tracklist—five, if you count the one released just before the album release—it would be even easier to write off the record as just a batch of closed-off, to-the-ceiling ravers. But they’re no one-trick-ponies, these fellas. Each of their hits are of the same breed, but there is no conveyor-belt similarity in their style. But considering their genre and influences, you wouldn’t be off base in assuming that this record has its share of highs and lows.
Beginning with the highs, “Bathroom Gurgle” was the song that first thrust the spotlight in their direction. It’s inventively convoluted, swinging its proverbial hips in opposite directions every sixty seconds or so. And singer Samuel Eastgate slinks in and out of a Prince falsetto so naturally, it’s tempting to diagnose him with the same faux-multiple personality disorder afflicting Kevin Barnes/Georgie Fruit (I’d even assume it was actually Fruit that Eastgate was channeling if this didn’t predate Skeletal Lamping). Nevertheless, “Gurgle” is relatively unwound and serpentine compared to most of the rest, making it a welcome reprieve at the album’s end. Being darn catchy doesn’t hurt either.
Unconventional may describe “Gurgle,” but not so much what preceded it—in fact, safer-hand moments overwhelm other unexpected tangents. Aside from the lurching (and mildly irritating) stutter of “The Bears Are Coming” and the brief but gleefully unpredictable instrumental, “VW,” every song makes maximal use of hooks and shake-happy beats. As a result, the jittery electronic gargles that play out the codas of “Broken,” “Whitesnake” and others feel all too superfluous. But danceable synth-pop isn’t the keystone here; more often than not, it’s the angular post-punk rhythms that dominate second impressions. In fact, LotP could be considered a Gang of Four/XTC revivalist with a healthy dose of nostalgic futurism (and the occasional wink towards Afro-beat).
But fear not: even when they stick to the paths already tread by a hundred other bands, they usually manage to deliver mostly solid work. The midsection is stuffed with better-than-passable fare like “Random Firl,” “Heartbeat” and “Focker.” None of them are particularly great (or even that memorable), but they zip by in two or three minutes, and they’d get any nerd disco on the planet jumping. More ambitious (and obvious) muse adulation can be uneven, though. “The Enemy Are the Future” and “Broken” are both space-glam Bowie, particularly in the way Eastgate treats the vocals—derivative but well done. But when they borrow wholesale, the urge to put on the better inspirations can be overwhelming. “Whitesnake”’s intro pilfers freely from Muse’s “Knights of Cydonia,” the arcade squelches on “Bears” is no longer novel thanks to Crystal Castles, Postal Service, etc., and their infatuation with recent winning acts like the Rapture and Klaxons can be vexing when they can’t pull it off as effortlessly as they did.
When you’re caught up in the momentum of the funky dance rockers, it’s tough to complain about these inconsistencies. But just as second looks expose the flaws in their musical attack, paying attention to the lyrics can lead to grimaces on the dancefloor. Eastgate sings as if always in mid-strut, but the words are typically hollow. You don’t expect much insight in these sorts of electro-rock raves, but everything is blurted out in one of three varieties. “Space and the Woods” conveniently offers all three in a handsome package. There’s vague and creaky pseudo-poetry (“Suicide is in my blood/It always was/But it doesn't evaporate in the light anymore”), narcissistic boasting (“I'm shit hot, so say what you think about me/I'm not gonna cry cuz I don't care”) and slapdash mélanges of narration and posturing (“Late on a Monday night/I'm on the grapevine/Beating around the bush/Adds to the bassline/Thinking about the time/When I was dancing slow/And out of control”). A shame, too, because “Space” has the most anthemic synth line on the entire disc.
Despite being the singer, Eastgate isn’t really the star of the show. That honor would have to go to producer Erol Alkan, a DJ and remix veteran. Without his efforts, LotP would almost undoubtedly stumble over their post-punk mashes. While hardly novel, the professional mixing and polish keeps one foot firmly in the camp of the Numans and Enos. But while numerous recent bands have done it both better and worse, originality isn’t the key to the success of this so-called “nu-rave” niche. That requirement goes to how well it rattles inside your head. Some moments landed with a thud, but more often than not, my head thumped along without complaint. That’s all I need. For now.
