What Is A Sparks?
Clark Paull | Murder City | 12/02/2005
(5 out of 5 stars)
"If you lend any credence to the old adage that nobody likes a smart ass, then just call Martin Gordon public enemy #1, the former Sparks, Jet, and Radio Stars member and Rolling Stones session dabbler extending the mordant, startling cavalcade of incandescent pop music he first foisted on a largely unsuspecting public with 2003's "The Baboon In The Basement."
While it may be tempting for us mere mortals to wish a pox on Gordon, he'd probably just laugh it off anyway and reach into his pocket for another handful of pixie dust, like he does with "God's On His Lunchbreak (Please Call Back)," the final installment of his Mammal Trilogy (2004's "The Joy of More Hogwash" representing the middle chapter) and another thaumaturgical convergence of cynicism, dulcet tones, and showboating. I really need to burn my thesaurus...
Gordon seems fully incapable of writing a song that is anything short of robust, cramming every available space with the torrent of lyrical and musical ideas cascading from his id, ego, superego and beyond, heady, swirling, sweeping masterpieces not too proud to wisecrack, nudge, and wink.
If there are any Sparks fans out there still in denial about the contributions Gordon made to the arrangement of "Kimono My House," one listen to album opener "Fickle," with tinkertoy piano flourishes right out of Ron Mael's bag of tricks, should have the lot of you scrambling for the sanctity of a razor blade and a warm bath. All that's missing is the oily hair, Hitler moustache, and pedophile countenance.
Songs like "Here Comes The Family" and "A Portion Of Paradise" are, quite simply, what ears were attached to human heads for, impeccably built from the foundation up, no chinks in the armor, instantly imprinted on the frontal lobe and, aside from Todd Rundgren, 10cc, and Robyn Hitchcock, the type of otherworldly, necromantic pop you're unlikely to find anywhere else on this mortal coil.
As with all Gordon ditties, the vibrancy of the hooks often causes one to overlook the fact that subject matter ranges from heart-blocking comestibles ("Gimme Food") to Ghanaian crumb snatchers ("Miracle Baby") to shattered hopes and dreams on the cricket pitch ("Bad Light Stops Play"). Make no mistakes about "The Captain of the Pinafore," though. It's just what you feared: a revved-up, spirited rip through the Gilbert & Sullivan show tune.
Gordon has once again surrounded himself with Sweden's finest, Pelle Almgren, on vocals, and ex-Jook Chris Townson keeping things steady from behind the drum kit, reigning in Gordon's eclectic arrangements and scattergun melodies that buckle under their own weight. Assuming the guitar chair this time around is 23-year-old boy wonder Enrico Antico from a certain boot-shaped peninsula. Gordon fills in the blanks everywhere else.
As if it wasn't already obvious, "God's On His Lunchbreak (Please Call Back)" clearly establishes Gordon as a god among insects, a fulsome treat dancing the devil's razor between transcendent and too damn smart for its own good. Hedging his bets, he hints that his next project may involve heavy lifting equipment, earthmovers, and pile drivers. Somebody pass the petrol.
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