Kasabian turns out forgettable record
Published Sept. 1, 2006
Artist: Kasabian
Album: Empire
Genre: Pop-rock
Released: Sept. 12
Record Label: RCA
Most Listenworthy Track: 'The Doberman'
Reviewer's Rating: 2 out of 5
The new millennium's British invasion is usually associated with bands like The Futureheads, Bloc Party and the Arctic Monkeys. Kasabian came before all three but never received the press or small-time success of those bands.
The band's dull music had an effect, but it seemed as if Kasabian got lost in the shuffle several years ago. The self-titled debut was successful in Britain but barely made a ripple in the U.S.
Singles "Club Foot" and "L.S.F (Lost Souls Forever)" made a little noise on modern rock radio, but all told, the band's second album, Empire, has been released on our side of the pond with almost no fervor. Unfortunately for Kasabian, nothing on this record will change that.
Empire follows the same increasingly tiring formula found on Kasabian's debut. The album's first nine tracks start with the exact same three components: keyboards, vocals and drums.
It gets old fast. So though any of these tracks alone is unassuming, by the third time the handclaps kick in after a keyboard intro, Kasabian's lack of imagination becomes a severe detriment to its work.
Thankfully, on the last two songs, the band flips the script and drops its ridiculous glam-dance shtick. What follows is the album's best work.
On "British Legion" guitarist Serge Pizzorno takes the mic and rips a page out of the Arctic Monkeys' playbook, spinning a tale of a seductive lover.
For the first time on the album, Kasabian sounds mildly fresh. Where an acoustic pluck would normally be, listeners get an electric guitar, and where the monster lift-up riffs would be, Pizzorno solemnly strums. The song could use an epic solo, but it ends up as a mildly good wannabe-Oasis anthem.
Luckily, that epic moment is signed, sealed and delivered on the closer and standout "The Doberman." The build-up and atmosphere created has prog sensibilities and fits these guys well.
The payoff is perfectly teased and masterfully constructed. After almost two minutes of guitar rambles and haunting echoes, Kasabian raves up the cymbals and then stops everything dead in its tracks. What follows is a throng of grandeur horns and the heaviest and most satisfying riff this band has ever recorded. To position this as the last minute on the album is genius. It is, hands down, the album's most impressive and tremendous moment.
Although the album ends with its best foot forward, the best thing that can be said about Empire is that it's passable background music. I listened to the album while working out and whole tracks slid by unnoticed. No song (save the last) stood out. Instead, each blended together to make one half-hour long, averagely composed opus. Could I dance to this album? Yeah. But I dance to a lot of things.
Trying to derive meaning from this album is pointless because, much like Kasabian, Empire is meaningless and hollow. There are words here only to please the radio. The band swallows up every line that comes out of lead singer Tom Meighan's mouth without an impression left in the sand.
Empire is a portrait painted by a group that has no idea who it wants to be. The first 10 tracks here present Kasabian as a C-grade party band. The last, which comes off as a revelation because every song before it is so forgettable, shows a band that could serve as a modern day prog-rock behemoth.
At the end of the day, Empire isn't all that bad, but it isn't nearly good. It's simply an inexhaustible exercise in mediocrity. The same could be said for Kasabian as a whole, and, for better or worse, it looks like it's staying that way.