Axe Murderers

I spent around 250 words eulogising about the guitar in the editorial of the issue of The Fly that hits the streets next week. Banging on about how, after six months of relentless synth-sabotaging of our famed six-stringed heritage, the guitar was ready for a comeback. After all, four of the UK’s most-feted wood-with-string specialists are on the cusp of returning; Arctic Monkeys, whose Josh Homme-produced new album I was sure would be full-to-the-fucking-brim of eardrum-realigning riffarama, The Cribs, who are already in possession of indie-jangle neo-classics and are now joined by axe-wielding royalty Johnny Marr, Editors, whose career has been built on shrill, skyscraping guitar affectations, and Muse, the riff-rock overlords, a Led Zep for the noughties.

A few weeks later, though, and the Gibson-goalposts are on the move. The Cribs – full marks, ‘Ignore The Ignorant’ plants itself firmly in the lineage of great British guitar albums, Johnny Marr’s input giving them an epic, expansive edge that wasn’t there before, but whilst Arctic Monkeys’ ‘Humbug’ is chocka with a menacing chime, it possesses none of immediate “your-ears-are-miiiiiiyiiiing!” riff thuggery I was expecting. I’ve only heard one and a half songs of the Muse album, and there’s a lot of eastern strings, a lot of Chopin-esque piano, a lot of Depeche Mode intestine-rumbling electro, but not a lot of our six-stringed friend. Mmm. As for the Editors’ new album, well, there’s not a ruddy guitar in sight. And if there is, then it’s decked out in a pair of comedy glasses, a big nose and a tie with a keyboard pattern on it, disguised as a chuffin’ SYNTH! I’d read a few bits and pieces here and there about the Brum quartet’s new album being a big departure, a soundscapian leap away from the sound that got them massive, but didn’t believe it – “radical departures” usually involve one or two songs involving a fuzz-box synthesiser on a couple of tracks and little else, but, Jesus, Tom Smith & co. are way beyond the demo button on a Casio.

‘In This Light And On This Evening’ is less a departure and more an ejectorseat thwack towards the sky. Listening to it, there’s no discernable singles, their usual euphoric surge is replaced with a sorry, smoggy Blade Runner bleakness and, well, there’s no fucking guitars on it?! I imagine it’s what Sony’s marketing department might consider a genre-jump too many – scrub that, they’ve probably got it nailed as a bungee-jump to career suicide. And it would be, if it wasn’t so fucking great. I’ve never been much of an Editors’ fan – I thought their first album was an opportunist hitchhike on the post-Interpol bandwagon, that Tom Smith always sounded like he had a bubble in his throat and I thought that their second album was total twaddle, a misguided attempt at becoming a slightly-gothic Coldplay. People – lots of ‘em – bought their records though, and I’m glad they did, cos their new album unveils a bold, brave and brilliant side to them that I’d never imagined. Taking risks and undergoing dramatic reinventions without checking them with you’re A&R man first are a sign that Editors, like Radiohead, Blur and, more recently, Bloc Party, have waited to unveil their leftfield-tendencies only once firmly ensconced in the mainstream. Who knows what it means commercially for them – but who really gives a fuck when they’ve just bought themselves a goldmine’s worth of respect. From me, anyway…