A quick history to The Television Personalities: the British post-punk legends formed in the 1960s and found cult infamy through albums like I Was A Mod Before You Were A Mod and They Could Be Bigger Than The Beatles. Frontman Dan Treacy virtually controlled the band, with an ever-rotation list of players joining the one core member. In the 1990s, he vanished in a drug-fuelled haze and was presumed dead. The singer re-emerged in 2004, this time with a wave of hype thanks to the propping up by bands like Sunderland four-piece The Futureheads as well as the tongue-in-cheek indie-before-indie existed tunes being somewhat in fashion.
As such, hipper-than-thou London-based label Domino (home to Franz Ferdinand, Arctic Monkeys and the now defunct Test Icicles among others) snapped him up and he retreated to produce My Dark Places, The Television Personalities first studio album since 1995’s I Was A Mod.
It comes across as an initially depressing listen. Track titles such as No More I Hate Yous should serve as tip-offs that this isn’t an easy ride; in fact, solemn and downbeat vocals and lyrics temper the recording and the whole thing gives an uneasy feel to the listener, as if we’re listening to tales of woe, misery and heartbreak instead of being invited to join in. Indeed throughout the album, he comes across as sounding like a cross between Babyshambles’ Pete Doherty (sans the romance) and The Brian Jonestown Massacre’s Anton Newcombe (sans the unpredictability).
Fortunately, his sense of humour remains in tact. For example, the album’s first UK single is titled All The Young Children On Smack and consists of a simple sampled drum beat over which Treacy moans “all the young children on smack / all the young children on crack.”
They’ll Have to Catch us First is a classically British romp complete with geezer-like refrains of “are you still dating that bird?” and “looking for a slap, you are” while Tell Me About It manages to turn the mundane into heartfelt poetry –
“tell me about your day
was your bossy as shitty as usual?
come into my arms
you know you’re safe with me”
followed by “tell me anything / even your shopping list.” The stunningly simple piano ballad is one of the album’s highlights.
The heart-wrenching back to back closing couplet of No More I Hate You’s and No Beautiful Way to Say Goodbye tug at the emotions. No More is full of fragmented guitar plucking and harmonica while No Beautiful Way starts with an uplifting piano line and distorted vocal and almost sounds like a Polyphonic Spree off-cut. Once again we’re invited into Treacy’s mind as he ditches the smart-arse shtick for something altogether more substantial.
Velvet Underground is a sixties style pop song with charming lyrics (“it’s the 8th mystery of the world I’ve found / how did the Velvet Underground get that sound?”). Stylistically the jaunty bass lines border on parody, and the whole thing is an entire world away from Art Brut’s snarling “I can’t stand the sound of the Velvet Underground.” (Bang Bang Rock’n’Roll).
But for every hit, there’s a miss. Sick Again is lyrically a self-pitying rambling mess pitted over a combination of harmonica and violin that never quite blends as it intends to. The slightly sinister Ex-Girlfriend Club sports sharp lyrics (“welcome to my ex-girlfriend club / visit the salad bar”) but a minute into the slow keyboard meandering, a bizarre frenzied drum solo kicks in and ruins the moment.
All in all, there’s an odd, slightly off-putting air surrounding My Dark Places. Maybe ignoring the accompanying press and Treacy’s interesting history may help, but it’s hard to hear the songs and picture anything but the ramblings of a mentally ill man. The DIY production values suit the songs perfectly and even the album’s artwork – consisting of three trees shrouded in dark shadows – reflects the mood aptly.
A far more challenging and difficult listen than your typical indie rock/pop album, My Dark Places is in times frightening, disturbing, clever, witty and intelligent. Those who delve deep enough into the record will receive an insight into the creator’s psyche; others may wish to approach with caution.
