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Railing against the world: Johnny Borrell |
That Borrell 1 makes for such a bizarrely invigorating listen is odd, given that Borrell himself has been exiled to France in the wake of a critical and commercial backlash. Razorlight, having started out as a passable indie-pop fourpiece, eventually morphed into an anaemic stadium-rock farce, right down to Borrell's own white catsuit. The sub-U2 dirge of 'America' became the band's shorthand, the critics' knives came out and Kirsten Dunst quickly abandoned the man who had once shepherded her to SXSW via motorbike. Worse still, Mercury Records took the entirely justifiable step of refusing to release the preposterously-titled Vertical Women LP, and two of Borrell's bandmates decided the time was right to flee the sinking ship.
Borrell himself fled to the south of France, where he took up with Zazou, a group of local musicians who style themselves similarly to Peep Show's Super Hans, right down to their purple zoot-suits. Their sax-heavy melodies, however, provide many of Borrell 1's more distinguished moments. 'Joshua Amrit', in particular, is an energetic number about leaving a lover to another man, with more than a hint of Graceland-era Paul Simon about it. 'Each and Every Road', meanwhile, is a ska-intoned romp which could be construed as an anti-drug anthem, were it not so gloriously stoned-sounding.
Borrell's dickhead charisma looms large over proceedings, however, and is both the best and worst thing about his solo debut. On 'Pan-European Supermodel Song', Borrell claims his own music is "genius", while the bafflingly enjoyable 'Wild Today' reveals that "my ex-girlfriend's in all the magazines, and the by-lines tell me she's still in love with me". 'Erotic Letter', meanwhile, concludes the album in a car crash of self-indulgence. But as with Kanye West on Yeezus, it is the artist's vanity and bombast which makes the album fascinating. You will listen intently for the next big affirmation of the singer's own profundity, sometimes failing to pay attention to the music surrounding the statements.
It should be stressed that Borrell 1 is not a good album. Songs which see Borrell trying to play it safe, such as 'Ladder To Your Bed', are particularly grating. However, there is a surprising absence of cynicism here: Borrell only sees the future, his rockstardom reinstated. When British music's hapless antihero comes out swinging, there is a charm to his fumbling grasp for greatness.
TWO STARS, BUT ESSENTIAL LISTENING