"The night starts here . . ." Just don't let it go any further.
Romanticism (as a philosophy rather than a literary period) is often misinterpreted, and too much emphasis placed on traditional Hollywood versions of "romance": candle-lit dinners, rose petals on the bed, cliched situations involving rings and champagne. A true romantic wouldn't have time for such laziness, such hackneyed devices, because a true romantic would not have time to plan a dinner, let alone light anything that isn't going to explode. You see, a romantic is a revolutionary; an anarchist. True romanticism is thoughtless, kinetic energy: all hope, no logic. Romantics want something to happen--anything. They yearn for the chaos; want buildings to crumble around them, to dodge the rubble, and to, somehow, come out okay.
The latest release by Canadian pop group Stars sets out to be a romantic's anthem. The first song builds into the second one--big chords, driving bass drum--mimicking, almost, a crowd's growing intensity. There will be trouble on the streets, it suggests. From city corners there appear restless youths: some faces are hidden behind bandannas, a couple kissing outside the post office, some begin to run until they are all sprinting--their numbers grow.
Track three is a climax: Take Me to the Riot sounds exactly how the name suggests: charged, forceful, romantic. Our rioters, fists pumping, let themselves get carried away. Nothing remains but their furious abandon. The line "pills enough to make me feel ill / cash enough to make me well" epitomizes the gleeful release of diving in. When Cambpell sings, "and then let me stay!" the crowd erupts in unison.
And then it stops, and someone puts on The Cardigans.
The shouting wanes, and everyone is looking around wondering what happened. "What the hell is this?," one boy muffles through his bandanna. Confusion spreads, and the crowd begins to disperse. Deflated mumbles replace the once barbaric yawps. A woman walks away saying, "I hear some writers are picketing near 13th Street. We could check that out."
Stars continues on this swish pop decline for a few songs--Ghosts of Genova Heights being one of the worst. Other tracks employ much crooning, a Jamiroquai tribute--somebody invites Prince along--and by the time they pick the tempo back up with Bitches in Tokyo near the end of the album, it's too late: the electricity is gone. The only ones left listening are rubbish collectors and the couple who are still making out by the post office.
In fact, part of me feels duped by buying this album. The B-side, far from being artistic, is more like a B-movie: under developed, and a little cheesy. Still, I return to the beginning and reminisce, which is what we do when things didn't turn out the way we expected. We go back to when it was exciting, when we were romantics. To paraphrase Seamus Heaney, there was hope not because something good might happen, but that something would happen. Yet unlike the celestial objects they're named for, Stars do not burn on in brilliance. Rather, they quite quickly fizzle and fade.
Band :: Stars
Album :: In Our Bedroom After the War
Verdict :: Download the battle, ignore the war
Video of Take Me to the Riot
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