Elbow: The Take Off And Landing Of Everything (review)

DISCLAIMER: Everything that follows this sentence could, potentially, be utter bollocks. Proceed with due care.

This is one of those albums where you recognize that a band has well and truly turned a new corner. Though there are some sonic callbacks to earlier works, there is much more on this effort that signifies a real shift - lyrically, musically and thematically - from past albums.

In part, this seems due to the new approach used by the band while putting the album together. For the first time, instead of writing all the music together as a group, they've scattered the songwriting around a bit. Some tracks have been put together by a smaller subset of the band, while others were more or less the product of one member's individual work. That certainly accounts for a lot of the differing styles we hear as the album progresses.

To my mind, though, the thing that's most new about this album is the perspective it seems to be coming from. Mainly this is apparent in the lyrics and themes, all courtesy of Guy Garvey. I was actually pretty surprised at the approach and ideas in many of these songs. Die-hard fans know that the relationship between Guy and his former partner, Emma Unsworth,  came to an end between the last album and this one. Considering the fact that the love between them had inspired the joyous, gorgeous heart of songs like Starlings, Mirrorball and One Day Like This, it seemed fair to assume that their breakup would lead to an album full of some seriously dark, melancholic overtones.

And yet, what we have here is not the same Guy Garvey we've seen after breakups past. Instead of indulging himself in regret, bitterness or self-pity, he seems thoroughly healthy and happy. In fact, there are more sentiments here that address the woes and worries of others than there are expressing his own. As ridiculous as this sounds, I clocked his persona this time around as some weird cross between Spiderman and Oprah - constantly watching over the city for signs of distress, then swooping in with support and comfort for those who need it. Just busted up with your boyfriend? Don't worry, sister, it'll pass, and we're all here for you until it does. Feeling ignored by the lippy kids down the pub? I hear you, brother - have some G&T and sympathy. He is even offering encouragement to his ex, to go forth and be happy herself. Grace under pressure? You're looking at it, folks.

My take is that there's an openness about this album. Emotionally, Guy's not hiding too much in his own head. And geographically, there's a greater focus on places beyond Manchester. While the band's hometown has always been a cozy place to dwell, it's a bit refreshing to see the gaze stretch a bit further...to New York, to the open ocean where many try to find passage to better lives, and even to the farthest reaches of the universe itself.

The universe is the starting point for album #6, as This Blue World posits that the earth and "her countless sisters" may well have been created simply to act as a backdrop to the romance between two people. Here we have one of the references to his breakup, but it is steeped in the idea that the bonds remain warm and strong though they've both moved on. I found the music to be just the right match for the lyrics. The gentle touch of the band emphasizes the sweeter side of the bittersweet lyrics. It is a lovely starting point for the album, in my opinion.

Charge then navigates us down from the heavens and straight into a seat at the bar, where a drunken rant is in mid-flow. The drunk in question, someone who has more than a few years on him and knows it, is a figure that Guy both empathizes and identifies with.  Just as in past classics like Springsteen's Glory Days, LCD Soundsystem's Losing My Edge, and approximately 497 songs by Loudon Wainwright III, the protagonist wants these damn kids to recognize, give some props, and get the fuck off his lawn. It's got a great, spitting mad energy to it, but at its heart it's more a plea for company more than anything else. It's always sad when these kids today don't realize how cool all us old folks actually are (or were...whatever...), but the toughest part is feeling like nobody has time for you. We get more invisible as we age, and the sentiments in this song reflect that phenomenon from the eyes of one of the newly invisible. Good stuff all round.

Fly Boy Blue/Lunette really needs to be taken apart into the two distinct songs that were combined here. They do flow together awfully well, but they each exist in their own unique space. Fly Boy Blue is a really well done piece. I like the way the vocals were manipulated, adding a sense of modern life on overload as Guy describes the everyday chaos around him - air traffic, politicians, pressures and problems. And those horns! You've gotta love those horns!

Lunette then segues into a more pensive zone. More discussions of age and the finite nature of life, as Guy reels off his justifications for all the cigarettes and boozing over the years. The "excellent company" is a good enough tradeoff for whatever wear and tear he's done to his lungs and liver, so it would seem. Not to mention the old trope of many an artist before him - if I didn't smoke/drink, could I still write? Could I even remember to breathe? Lovely poetry here, though it must be said that I always roll my eyes a little when I hear people romanticizing the fags and booze in songs like this. But all is forgiven after the last passage, explaining how the greatest comfort - beyond the drinks and the nicotine - is "the gentle lunette at the top of the nape of the neck" of a lover. A gorgeous little ending, wistful, but sweet and heartfelt.

New York Morning does pretty much what it says on the tin, taking us on a journey through the infrastructure and the noise and the spirit of the most famous city on earth. I love this one, both for the easy, soaring quality of the music and for the wonderful descriptions of how "every bone of rivet steel" plays a role in the huge, quasi-mythical land that is New York City.  This song also touches on the idea of America as a melting pot, and in Manhattan that really is true. But America is made up of 50 states, and many of them aren't as well-balanced as New York is. That theme of immigration and finding a new life in another country is one that is touched on later on in the album.

Real Life (Angel) is one of those Oprah moments, with Guy counseling a female friend who's working through the aftermath of a breakup. The music is just as comforting as the lyrics. There's a steady, warm quality to it, especially toward the end where the mantra-like refrain of "angel" is repeated behind Guy's vows that music and the support of loved ones will see her through her heartache in time.  This is one of the songs I've found myself warming to rather quickly. It's hard not to sing along with it, and it's another case of music and words matching up exceptionally well.

Honey Sun is real highlight on this album. The music is ominous, signaling darkness and change. It's a tale of escaping - or trying to escape - the mess left behind after a relationship ends. I love the imagery on this one. Guy says that "danger lies behind the tape across my door", giving the impression that a home once shared by lovers has now become a crime scene, a place bearing remnants of pain and one that's best avoided. The idea of taking off to somewhere far away, like a bullet from a gun, is also a great image. It's one of the shorter songs on the album, but it covers a lot of emotional ground and paints some very vivid pictures in that time.

My Sad Captains is another of those tracks that could only be an Elbow song. Nobody else does this sort of thing better, and Elbow themselves have rarely done it better than they do here. I got a little whiff of Blur's Tender at the start, though it was fairly subtle. Everything else is strictly, unmistakably Elbow, from the elegiac horns to the grand nostalgia of the lyrics. I'll admit, as a 46-year-old woman who has seen a kid through to teenager-dom and still feels pretty good about life, it's amusing to me to hear a song about how quickly time is passing and how the glories of youth are fading...from someone who's about to turn 40. But I do get it. Although I may not go busting out the world's tiniest violin to serenade them as they weep for the all-night drinking sessions that are no more, there's an overwhelming charm to these celebrations of long-standing friendship. Just as with Weather To Fly, the idea of loyalties and brotherly love standing the test of time is a heartwarming thing, and it's just as beautifully expressed here as it was before. Musically, it's a shimmering, lovely number, and Guy's in fine voice. Certainly one of the most enjoyable moments in this set.

Colour Fields is one that I've had a hard time getting a handle on. The lyrics are fairly abstract, and except for a few lines which bring things into focus somewhat, it would be tough to explain what the song's about. After seeing a track-by-track commentary that was part of the media kit for the album, I found that this was about someone Guy knew who had been bullied at school. I suspect the song was written more as a communication to that person than to us, and for that reason I haven't found much of a place to hang my emotional hat yet. I appreciate the Oprah/Spiderman effort, once again reaching out to someone who's been hurt and trying to offer something positive. But honestly, for me this is the track I've made the least connection with so far. Musically I found it an interesting piece, pretty minimalist and repetitive, but with a warmth and some melodic flourishes that transcended the overall simplicity.

Now I have to name the one, niggling misstep that has bugged me more with every listen. The title track just shouldn't be here, in my opinion. I really would have preferred to see it coming last, for reasons which I'll expand on in a bit. But the track itself is quite extraordinary. The Take Off And Landing Of Everything is the real root of what this album is about - life's transitions, victories and losses, time marching on and beginnings turning into endings turning into beginnings. The use of the phrase "the time-worn shimmer of a tarantella on a Tuscan plain" gave me a happy little smile, as an Italian-American. The tarantella is in my blood, and I was interested to see if this was a phrase used for the sound of it or if there was anything more there. As a basic reference point, tarantella is the name given to a specific sort of music and dance that has survived over centuries, and is part of well-known Italian tradition. These days, it's a dance you do at weddings (my husband and I did it at mine, and it wasn't pretty. Ever seen a rhythm-impaired Scotsman in a kilt trying to dance like an Italian? If not, consider yourself lucky). But the roots of tarantella come from certain regions in the south of Italy, where the venomous bite of a wolf spider (hence the connection to a tarantula) supposedly induced a dancing frenzy in its victims.  There was an almost trance-like quality to both the music and the dancing, and it was supposed to signify a state of consciousness that was outside of the regular boundaries of the mind and spirit.

So, I do have reason to wonder if that idea was in the back of Guy's mind when he used it in these lyrics. The song itself uses a drone-like foundation, with a healthy heaping of psych-rock sound blanketed all over it. There are elements of many other bands to be found here, but the one I picked up on most was Yo La Tengo, who have a way of creating musical art out of discord. The song is another testament to the healthy way Guy's relationship ended, as it acknowledges both the blisses of the love they shared, as well as his sincere hope that she'll go forward and conquer the world. The idea that some things end, but life goes on, is well-served by the magnificent, spiraling ending. With music and voices blending and repeating in a Technicolor circle, we get the feeling of life spinning on, eternal, all over this blue world and beyond, providing us with a thematic link to the opening track and its infinite point of view.  And that right there is why the title track should have been the last. How perfect that little "circle of life" would have seemed.

Instead, we end with Blanket of Night. I'm a big fan of this song, so don't get me wrong. But it is so, so out of place, in my opinion. It's something that connects thematically with New York Morning - at least, that's how I perceive it. That may not have been the band's intention, but to me, it shows the flip side of life in the Western world, where things aren't always so ideal for those who come from other places to find freedom or stability. You're invited to share the fears and prayers of an immigrant on the sea, as he and his love journey toward what they hope will be a better life. In New York Morning, we heard about the welcoming, inclusive nature of a place "where folk are nice to Yoko". But in reality, many nations, including Britain and the US, are experiencing a huge backlash against immigration.

Here in Florida, I have seen that first-hand quite often lately. Just a few weeks ago, there was a hunt on for some immigrants who'd been seen coming ashore in Palm Beach County, about 10 minutes or so from my own home. There is not a lot of interest in absorbing more immigrants in this state right now, and much of America is in the same frame of mind. It is a delicate issue fraught with legitimate political, environmental, economic and cultural concerns. But Guy Garvey has been disturbed by the rise of anti-immigrant sentiment in his homeland, and I can't help but recognize the same thing here where I live. for that reason, this song resonates with me a great deal, lyrically.

Musically, I think it was brilliantly done. The acoustic version that has been online for a while now is gorgeous. But it is this studio version which speaks more to me. The seasick instrumentation, juxtaposed against the occasional moments of silence, bring to mind the swelling waves of the ocean, and the way one's heart can simply skip a beat in fear. It does convey the nightmarish sensation that the song's protagonist must feel. I think it is a great comment of the topic of immigration, but again, I just don't think it was the ideal way to end the album. It sticks out like a sore thumb in that position, for me personally, and if the title track had been last instead, spinning the listener off into the infinite loop of life, I think it would have been a lot more satisfying.

Jesus Horatio Christ, that was a lot of words! And again, most of them are likely bollocks when all's said and done. But that's what I've been carrying around in my brain over the past week spent with this album, and it felt good to let it out somewhere.

TL:DR version - I am very happy with this effort. It's an 8.5 out of 10, I'd say. The band have not let me down. I am looking forward to seeing how the new stuff plays live, and in the meantime I'll be enjoying this often on my headphones. Top notch effort, not too much of a left-turn from where they've been, but still a bit of a new direction in several ways. They're growing and changing, but in their own way and at their own pace, and I think that approach is serving them very well so far. Good on 'em, and long may they run.

Elbow: The Take Off And Landing Of Everything (review)