Released on Eskimo Recordings, 6/09/2010



Lets be honest.  Lots of albums sound remarkably similar.  Yes, there are certain releases that are defining exponents of a particular genre, style, whatever, but it’s rare that that a record or artist comes along that defies characterisation, that literally inhabits its own space, that-if you’ll let me be so bold- resides in its own little genre-less sphere, bobbing along, looking smug at all the indie boys and noise-grots scrabbling for a bit of air in the rush.

Aeroplane are one of these acts, and We Can’t Fly is quite possibly the most gloriously varied, fun and downright bonkers album you will hear all year.

Opener ‘Mountains of Moscow’ doesn’t really hint at this too much- all Scarface synths and grand strings setting the scene for an aural journey that really blasts off with new single ‘We Can’t Fly.’  What starts with a girls voice (we can’t fly/c’mon lets try) becomes a bouncy-ball reggae beat before everything gets swathed in joyous gospel chorus’s and more cinematic synths that should be the soundtrack to an endless Arnold Schwarzenegger montage.  It’s genuinely uplifting music, a theme carried on by the Stevie Wonder meets Air stylings of ‘Superstar’, with its heavily Autotune’d vocals and piano line pilfered straight off Innervisions.  God knows what the vocals are saying, but Bon Iver it ain’t.

A quote on the Myspace of Aeroplane, a.k.a  Vito DeLuca, has him saying ‘for me the Rocky soundtrack is at the same level as Dark Side of the Moon, it’s the same kind of perfection,’ and this is evident on ‘London Bridge’, which teeters permanently on the edge of  an epic breakdown with incessant helicopter keys, but waits for ‘I Don’t Feel’ to break the tension, where Merry Clayton  (backing singer on ‘Gimme Shelter’ no less) announces herself with vast, Tina Turner-esque stadium-broaching shouts.  It’s sassy, it’s huge, it’s retro, it’s futuristic, yet despite the potential for this melange to disintegrate into an awful mess it all fucking works.

‘Without Lies’, featuring pop-starlet to-be Sky Ferreira, is a different proposition altogether with almost spoken vocals and a popping beat that gives respite before we are treated to another feast of synths and strings with the aptly named ‘The Point Of No Return.’  Never has a title been so fitting, as by now you are mired into the album with each song bringing a ‘fuck me’ utterance at its breadth and gumption.  There’s also the most glorious cock-rock riffs, bringing to mind ‘God Gave Rock n’ Roll To You’ type KISS. 

Just when you think you’ve got it all worked out, ‘Good Riddance’ saunters into proceedings, a vaudevillian Motown number with lyrics that belie its bouncy nature and roots, with London singwriter Jonathan Jeremiah singing:

‘I know you think I’ll still be here in the morn,
You’d be mistaken,
As soon as you’re wakin,
Bags were packed night before,
Note pinned to the kitchen door
And the truth is, you can see the fall. 


There’s even a smattering of chirpy trumpets at the end to lend the narrators fuck-you lyrics an extra big dollop of schadenfreude.

‘Caramellas’ has piano’s nicked from Robbie Williams’ ‘Feel’, and its a scene-setting instrumental, but one- like the rest of this album- rooted in popular music.  Whatever musical tribe you aspire to be part of, there is much to cling to and, more importantly much thats familiar whilst still being completely original.  ‘My Enemy’ is the instrumental cousin of ‘Lay All Your Love On Me’, albeit one written by a dance music producer (which, duh, DeLuca used to be), before Slowhand guitars are layed down later which you just know your Dad would do a finger-pointy dance to if you weren’t in the room.

Album closer ‘We Fall Over’ is then driven by nursery rhyme xylophone, and floaty harmonies from pretty-good Frenchies Au Revoir Simone, and it’s a fittingly low key end to this journey that Aeroplane have just taken you on.  It demonstrates that from start to finish this is an album, in the old school, shove-your-iTunes-up-your-Gary sense.  Although We Can’t Fly is stuffed with huge tunes that stand up on their own right, especially in the first half, as a whole it's a 12-stop trip to a different musical plain and one that you appreciate the complexity of more with each listen. In its sheer size and diversity it brings to mind Odd Blood, which since its release in January I was convinced would end 2010 as the album of the year.  With the release of We Can’t Fly, however, it may have just been shunted into second place. 
 



8.5/10

Posted In Album Reviews, Sep 07 2010. Words - David