The Single Life: Marilyn Manson, Empire Of The Sun And More

14 May 2015 | 10:23 am | Ross Clelland

Another eternal problem of the pop music – that of growing older gracefully. Or otherwise.

Another eternal problem of the pop music – that of growing older gracefully. Or otherwise.

Rock and roll, and such attendant noises are by their nature transient and youth obsessed. So, read this again in five years and see if Harry Styles is anything but an obscure answer at trivia nights. Conversely ponder - as future you removes your jet pack – that some hologram in your virtual reality optical implant is asking how Keith Richards is still alive. This being a question actually asked repeatedly since 1966.

Perhaps the key is not being beholden to fashion or fad at all. Leonard Cohen could actually have Got A Little Secret (Columbia) – that secret possibly being wearing the same hat for the last 40 years. This track comes from his second live document in less than a year, and while a new tune it’s still built around his solemn tones that somehow express so much joy. There’s some rolling organ, and the coloured girls go ‘do-de-dooo’ or similar. But he is as timeless, as identifiable, as individual as ever.

Not quite sublime to ridiculous - but certainly on that arc - we ponder the somewhat depressing spectacle of Marilyn Manson. Or, as he prefers to be known for the purposes of this exercise, The Mephistopheles Of Los Angeles (Hell, etc.). Increasingly the annoying uncle you don’t want sat next at a family wedding - or more probably a funeral - the once most dangerous man in music now more resembles that bloke in the Freddy Krueger mask outside the worst haunted house attraction in sideshow alley. Throw in some guy from The Wire and Boardwalk Empire doing a gravelly spoken word bit as they couldn’t afford to get Tom Waits - who would have laughed in their face if they’d asked, anyway. We leave you with the added questionable spectacle of Maz about to go on a tandem tour with Smashing Pumpkins – a.k.a. Billy Corgan and a bunch of nobodies who can play those songs – for a night that would be an utter barrel of laughs. Possibly for all the wrong reasons. 

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Of another generation, but another also apparently rent with internal warfare, it’s maybe a little surprising The Strokes are actually out on tour, and reportedly considering making a new record. Just to confuse the issue, Albert Hammond Jr of said combo has a solo record due out soon. To make you aware of that, Born Slippy (Vagrant) has a slightly lighter swing than the combo from which he springs, maybe plus a bit of fellow New Yorkers Television in there as well, but has enough of their flavour to keep the faithful onside while they wait for the collective to work out whether those of the band can co-exist.

And frankly, we weren’t sure if the Empire Of The Sun banner would be unfurled again with its two central components being such short attention-spanned individuals, who would have moved onto their next thing, or the thing after that. But, after the somewhat puzzling placement of some EOTS material on the soundtrack of Dumb And Dumber To, another new song appears. Welcome To My Life (Capitol) also apparently precursors a new album somewhere in the distance, but for the moment its main purpose is to encourage the consumer to partake of a certain brand of vodka. Ah, the joys of product placement. Enjoy responsibly, etc. 

Relatedly, if you didn’t know better, the phrase ‘Calexico worm’ may suggest that night where you considered that couple of shots of cheap tequila around 2am to be a good idea. Hint: it probably wasn’t. But in this case, in the genuine sequel to Calexico’s Fallen From The Sky short film, the man with the most culturally confusing name outside of Scottish racing driver Dario Franchitti, Sweden’s own Jose Gonzalez takes custody of that very David Lynchian creature in the box, and soundtracks it with Open Book (Mute) as he typically ponders existence, and that kinda stuff. 

The questions occurring to The Sticks may tend more toward ‘So, how can we use this Timbrel Theremin?’, and the utilisation of various other such esoteric electronic devices with which they make their rather individual racket. It’s synthetic burps and farts of a very ‘70s-‘80s nature, with World Maps (Broken Stone) somehow falling into a construction that does actually make sense as pop music, but there’s the feeling they’re still finding their way a bit, and things may well become even more assured as they go. 

Meanwhile Brisbane’s The Jensens offer A New Hope (Independent), by doing it mostly a traditional way. Well-wrought guitar pop rock with the vocal tone somewhere between a growl and a whine that has trademarked good stuff from round these parts from before they tore down Cloudland in the middle of the night – that’s a bit of Pig City musical history, go Google it. But keep playing this while you do.