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| ARTIST: |
Billy Bragg & The Blokes
(Google this artist) |
| ALBUM: |
England, Half English |
| LABEL: |
Elektra |
| RELEASED: |
2002 |
Can you hear snickering about Billy Bragg resonating somewhere in the
distance? Harsh criticisms are bound to surface for England, Half English, which is a shame, because while the carping is predictable, the album is not.
Is it that Bragg’s past work has set expectations too high? Or are
middle-aged icons bound to fall under scrutiny as a simple matter of course?
In any event, let’s be clear – "England" is decidedly not his finest work.
Yes, there are the expected left-leaning manifestos, and shame on anyone
who’d claim that Bragg’s politics have gotten in the way of his song writing
(just because YOU’VE fallen into a nasty habit of comfortably numb
consumerism, doesn’t mean he should be letting go of his best intentions as
well). “England” shows Bragg’s wit sharp as ever – and plugged into the
international socio-political current with more high voltage awareness than
most would ever dare play with. Call it fear of shock.
Besides, you never had to actually agree with Bragg’s politics to appreciate
his verbal dexterity. Even at his most indignant, he’s always polished
things up with a dose of humor, managing to somehow politely suggest that
you should piss off, yet rarely stooping to condescension. But England, Half English
has begun to hint at complacency, and it’s not always a welcomed change.
“St. Monday,” the album’s lead track is a prime example. A playful,
romp-n-stomp, workingman’s sing-along about heel dragging on the job,
Bragg’s bubble gum approach betrays the historic darkness of labor relations
(something he’s always been quick to embrace), and risks stumbling into
folly.
The rally against the suits, “NPWA” (No Power without Accountability),
supplies some great turns of phrase [“IMF, WTO, I hear these words just
every place I go. Who are these people? Who elected them? And how do I
replace them with some of my friends?"], but errs in the opposite direction,
employing a rigid, heavy-handed musical arrangement that makes the overall
message come off as awkward and preachy. A bit better is the title track -
“England, Half English” - an inquiry into England’s obsession with
anachronistic notions of monarchy and empire in an age where, due to ethnic
diversity, ‘English-ness’ is a fuzzy notion at best. The Blokes break new
stylistic ground here, employing an unexpected world-beat meets
modster-rave-up-a-go-go approach, while Bragg tries his hand at spoken
narrative in bizarre Ray Davies fashion.
There is a healthy dose of experimentation with new styles – especially
world music – and though it might well have been (and could yet be) a
refreshing departure for Bragg & The Blokes, it ultimately disappoints.
Although many of the songs strive for tightly structured, percussive jam
patterns, they come off sounding a bit clumsy. The Caribbean-tinged
hippie-hop of “Jane Allen” is the most successful effort in this vein, and
is the high point of the record in terms of immediate appeal (read: first
time listen).
There are a few noteworthy nods to the stripped down production quality of
his punk-folk troubadour days (“Distant Shore,” “Some Days I See The Point,”
“Take Down the Union Jack”), and that approach continues to work marvelously
toward showcasing his voice, his message, his heart. Overall, this album
leaves the listener wondering - is Bragg moving away from his British
roots, or simply coming into his own? Even in its most reflective moments,
the overall tone of the album is enthused and optimistic. But while fusing
his Anglo-centric politics with a more global sound may suggest an admirable
conviction toward staying true to the progressive course, the overall recipe
ends up sounding one part over-fluffed, two parts half-baked. Who knows?
Perhaps he’s ahead of the curve – and only time will tell whether these
songs stand up. Like it or not, part of Bragg’s appeal has always been that
the songs are so damned CATCHY. And in that regard, England, Half English is never quite filling enough to really stick to your ribs.
review by Jon James
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©
Figgle 2001-2007