Bloc Party - 'A Weekend in the City'

One of my biggest beefs with British music magazines is that just about every gosh darned band that comes off that island is supposed to be “The Next Big Thing.” Most of the time, the press is totally off (The Horrors, Kasabian, etc.), but the law of averages means that sometimes they’re right about something (In this case, Bloc Party). Bloc Party’s 2005 full-length debut, Silent Alarm, was a stunning collection of post-punk, Gang of Four-loving tunes. All 14 of its tracks could have been hits. Given that half of the album ended up being released as singles, that isn’t much of an exaggeration.

But, to paraphrase an old saying, while the band members had their entire lives to write their first album, they only had six months (or something like that…) to write their second one. Due to low amounts of time, high amounts of pressure and a heck of a lot of growing pains, the band’s sophomore release, A Weekend in the City, is a bit of a mixed deal.

A Weekend in the City is 11 tracks of awkward dance music. But, it’s not awkward in the herky-jerky, angular post-punk way that the band displayed on Silent Alarm. Oh no, it’s awkward in a “man, these lyrics would blow my mind if only I was still 14” way. It’s as if frontman Kele Okereke raided his (live)journal for song ideas. The result is a batch of thoroughly sullen, albeit groovy, tunes.

The most embarrassing tracks here tend to be the slower ones. They expose Okereke more. The album’s opener, “Song For Clay (Disappear Here),” starts off with just Okereke’s voice, plus some guitar and organ. Now, Bloc Party have always been pretty good at writing anthems. Older songs like “Two More Years,” “This Modern Love” and “Like Eating Glass” are all infectiously catchy and all boast self-contained messages: “Life and love are good, we are bad dancers who bump into things a lot,” basically.

But, somewhere, sometime, the Party goers decided that they needed to be much broader with their statements. Hence, a song like “Song For Clay (Disappear Here)” doesn’t just tell a story, it attempts scathing criticism of the status quo. “I’m trying to be heroic in an age of modernity,” Okereke begins in a painfully strangulated voice. The song sums up Okereke’s disgust with how pathetically retro life for young hipsters seems to be, how everything has that numb, “it’s been done before” pseudo-ironic feeling.

But rather than turn that nihilistic attitude on, say, the current international political climate, he settles for complaining about his dinner. I’m entirely serious — “I order the foie gras and I eat it with complete disdain/Bubbles rise in champagne flutes, but when we kiss I feel nothing.” Dude needs to mellow out, maybe grab a burrito or something. “Song For Clay (Disappear Here)” is supposed to be a critique of how snide young people are these days, but it’s so joyless that it becomes part of the crowd instead of rebelling against it.

But, luckily, A Weekend in the City has enough quick-tempoed tunes to keep listeners’ brains too occupied with dancing to notice the lame lyrics. “Hunting For Witches” and “Waiting For the 7:18” are both catchy tunes. Drummer Matt Tong has often been called Bloc Party’s “secret weapon,” and it’s obvious why — he keeps the beat awesome in any capacity. He can rock, groove, whatever, and his playing perpetuates both of these tracks into dance-tastic territory.

Things get a bit more club-oriented with “The Prayer.” “Lord, give me grace and dancing feet,” Okereke sings. He’s a little less sullen here, but only fleetingly. Mostly, “The Prayer” is about wanting to be really, really cool. “I will charm/I will slice/I will dazzle them with my wit” goes one line from the chorus.

The last few tracks of A Weekend in the City are the pandering ones. “I Still Remember” attempts to recreate the romantic new wave feelings of “This Modern Love,” with creepily sexual results. “You should have asked me for it/I would have been brave,” Okereke sings. Later, he recalls hanging out with his love on trains and in parks, but there’s still that lingering awkwardness of lines like those quoted above.

There’s only one word needed to describe A Weekend in the City — awkward. Musically, the band is still tight and danceable. The songs here are less post-punk and more synth-y, pop rock sounding. It’s a different style, but a good one. Think Kenna’s New Sacred Cow or perhaps The Faint’s Dance Macabre, only not as great. On an instrumental level at least, Bloc Party have distanced themselves from the new new wave bands kicking around Europe and the United States. What destroys A Weekend in the City is the lyrics. The writing is spotty, bratty and lackluster when it wants to hit U2-levels of bravado, self-righteousness and conviction. Here’s hoping Bloc Party learn how to have fun on album number three.