Although not fully cured of the experimentalist hangover from their previous album, The 1975 is back to doing what they do best.
22nd May 2020: barely over a year since the release of their third studio album, Manchester-bred pop powerhouse The 1975 debut a twenty-two track epic ominously named Notes On A Conditional Form. Digressing almost completely from the 80s inspired, polyrhythm-heavy style that made them an international sensation, the album employed a different musical genre for every track, encompassing everything from garage (‘Shiny Collarbone’) to punk (‘People’). While undeniably a bold musical endeavour, Notes On A Conditional Form divided fans and critics alike: praise for frontman Matty Healy’s cutting lyrical realism, as well as drummer George Daniel’s talent for electronic producing, was overshadowed by a general consensus that the album was at best confusing and at worst a profound disappointment. A devoted fanbase, many of whom had followed the band since the release of their self-titled EP in 2013, were left asking: what happened to The 1975?
Nearly three years later, they finally have their answer.
The band’s latest release, Being Funny In A Foreign Language, marks an unmistakable and deeply relieving return to the musical style that made them famous, while incorporating elements of acoustic piano and guitar work not previously in evidence. Almost every song feels like it could be inserted into a previous work from the band’s discography and make sense there; track two, the pop anthem ‘Happiness’, could almost be a direct lift from their I Like It When You Sleep era, while ‘Looking for Somebody’ features the same glaring guitar riffs that characterise 2018’s ‘Give Yourself a Try’.
This stylistic reversion is undoubtedly what makes the album so brilliant. While it is almost inevitable that some will identify it as a lack of creativity or a creative regression, this could not be further from the case. Is Being Funny in a Foreign Language as innovative as their previous albums? No. Does that work in their favour? Absolutely. It combines everything you’ve come to expect from a 1975 album, merging the musical tropes they’ve become inseparable from without feeling like a cheap rehash of their previous work.
This is not to say the album is a no-skip wonder - in fact, far from it. Most of the songs are distinct enough from each other to bear remembering, but there is a creeping sense towards the end that the selection becomes slightly too ballad-heavy.
As with all studio albums by The 1975, Being Funny opens with a self-titled track that acts to define the tone, pace, and style of the tracklist to follow. Dominated by chaotic acoustic piano chords and an atonal vocal line, ‘The 1975’ is more of a vibe check than a song - and the continuation of a tradition that fans have come to expect (although, quite frankly, this convention was shattered by the jarring spoken word collaboration with Greta Thunberg on Notes). The lyrics, in classic Matty Healy style, are depressing and nihilistic, describing the state of mind of an individual grappling with what it means to be alive in the 21st century.
Lyrically, if not musically, ‘The 1975’ sets the pace of what’s to come. Without giving the listener time to breathe, Being Funny launches directly into what could be one of the ‘most 1975’ songs ever created: track two, ‘Happiness’, is undoubtedly the pendant piece of the album. Released as a single in August, it employs overlapping, syncopated guitar riffs, chunky bass, and a crisp saxophone line to create a song that is best described as an auditory dopamine hit. This musical formula is what created classics such as ‘It’s Not Living’ and ‘If You’re Too Shy’. Listening to ‘Happiness’, you get the feeling that it too will join the list of songs to define The 1975’s career.
The lyrical genius of ‘Happiness’, I find, lies in how unexpected the subject matter is. It’s an expression of pure, euphoric love, as well as the eternal fear of self-sabotage when you’re with the right person. Track three, ‘Looking for Somebody’, is a logical musical successor to this, using synth riffs to flesh out punchy guitar-based instrumentation, and providing cutting philosophical commentary at a whopping 168 bpm. It’s catchy, clever, and reminiscent of the electronic tracks from the band’s third album.
This normality can, of course, only go so far, which is what brings us to ‘Part of the Band’. When it was released, perplexingly enough, as the album’s lead single, many predicted that Being Funny would follow in the same experimental footsteps as its predecessor. However, as one takes the work in its entirety, you realise that track four is in fact the exception, rather than the rule. Confusingly crass lyrics and a syncopated string quartet make for the first track one might be tempted to skip.
It could also be said that track four is the point at which the album’s tracklist departs completely from any kind of logic. ‘Oh Caroline’ and ‘I’m In Love With You’ appear to resume a pop-rock trajectory - while the two of them individually lack distinct creative flair, they are catchy enough to blast at full volume, and add to the musical homogeneity of the album. However, just as it seems like a concrete pattern has been established, the run of ballads begins. And trust me, there are a lot of ballads.
‘All I Need to Hear’, ‘Human Too’, ‘About You’, and ‘When We Are Together’ form the last stretch of the record. Despite a brief respite in the form of ‘Wintering’ - an acoustic, skiffle inspired banger about a dysfunctional family Christmas (and a personal favourite of mine) - things do start to drag slightly. What began as a momentum-filled, creative album gives way to a group of songs that, at some points, feel indistinguishable from each other. Admittedly, ‘About You’ does make for easy listening, but only due to its near-plagiarism of U2’s ‘With Or Without You’ - though the soaring bass is the perfect soundtrack for sobbing on your bedroom floor.
If you weren’t sufficiently emotionally crushed by this point, ‘When We Are Together’ shows up to close the album. A Phoebe Bridgers-esque folk love song, it pays tribute to the power of love in the face of emotional suffering, and is ultimately a deeply appropriate note to end on. Does love solve everything? No. Is it still necessary? Absolutely.
Cover image taken by Maanya Chandhock.
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