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Viva La Franz
With a great new CD, the quirky rockers Franz Ferdinand return to save MTV (and us) from a million bands with spiky hair. Just don't call them retro.
By Lorraine Ali
Newsweek
Oct. 17, 2005 issue - This year's Grammys were full of outsize superstar moments—Marc Anthony and J. Lo's soap-operatic duet, Usher's flashy dance number, that star-studded tribute to Southern rock. And then there were Franz Ferdinand. Dressed in drab colors and playing a jerky, lopsided dance tune, this strange little Scottish band looked as though they'd crashed the stage. "I looked out at the audience, and there was Janet Jackson and Usher and Dolly Parton," says Franz Ferdinand's Alex Kapranos, sitting poolside with his bandmates at Hollywood's Roosevelt Hotel. "It was like a wax museum where all the figures came to life. Backstage was even stranger, but at least Nick [McCarthy, the guitarist] got a picture with Ricky Martin." "Yeah," says McCarthy, beaming. "He put his arm around me. I look very, very small."
Franz Ferdinand doesn't mesh with the fit-and-tan crowd around the pool, either. They're six shades paler than everyone else and speak in a Scottish brogue so heavy it sounds like another language.
DRUMMER PAUL THOMSON: Can I get the bill, please?
WAITRESS: What?
THOMSON: Can I pay?
WAITRESS: You want a canopy?
THOMSON [Sighing]: Sure, a canopy and the bill.
Their music, at least, is speaking to American listeners loud and clear. Their self-titled 2004 debut CD went platinum, and their new album, "You Could Have It So Much Better," is likely to outpace it. No one could have predicted they'd do this well—apparently not even the folks at Sony who were indicted for paying radio stations to play singles by their artists, including Franz's "Take Me Out." (The label was fined $10 million; the band said they found the episode "embarrassing," but beyond their control.) The arty name was bad enough—Franz Ferdinand was the Austrian archduke whose assassination sparked World War I—but the band seemed to be doing that '80s thing: quavering vocals, spastic rhythms and enigmatic lyrics that bounced around like New Wavers on the dance floor. Still, their songs were good—and their timing was even better. Franz dropped their album just as other nonconformist rock bands, like the White Stripes, were gaining on monochromatic MTV pop-punk outfits. Of course, there's still a long way to go. Turn on the radio and you'll find that Franz and their ilk are still outnumbered by pierced screamers 4 to 1. "How many of those spiky-haired groups can exist?" asks Thomson. "It's like there's a factory somewhere in the Midwest that's churning 'em out by the hour."
Franz Ferdinand were probably lucky to have formed far away from such music-industry towns as L.A., New York and London. They were able to forge a sound and style in the comfortable obscurity of Glasgow's small lounges and pubs before anyone could latch onto them as underground rock's newest saviors. As a result, they own the music they play. "You Could Have It So Much Better" is catchier—even warmer and prettier—than their debut, and at the same time more substantial and complex. That doesn't mean they're getting all serious on us; they're just more confident. "There's a coldness about the sound of the first record which I always find difficult," says Kapranos. "It's like you're listening to somebody else playing behind a sheet of glass." Bassist Robert Hardy has his reservations, too. "I would have never bought our first record," he says. "I would've wanted to hate it. Then I would've heard it round my girlfriend's house—it'd be better than I thought it would be, but I still wouldn't admit it."
A lot of people had their reservations about Franz Ferdinand. Would they turn out to be a stylized flop like the Strokes? A one-trick pony whose trademark stunt was diving into a shallow pool of '80s kitsch? The guys in the band still bristle at that association. "I think because we had short back-and-sides haircuts, everybody presumes we're really into the '80s," says Kapranos—who's now grown his hair out. "I couldn't stand the decade. I wanted it to be the '60s." Presumably this is why their newest press release describes certain songs on "You Could Have It So Much Better" in terms of the Beatles (well, maybe) and Led Zeppelin (no way), rather than Gang of Four and New Order. "I think we have a huge Zeppelin thing going on," says Kapranos, apparently in earnest. "When we were recording this record, we kept thinking, 'Does this sound too much like "Kashmir"?' That's the best thing that happens in music—when in your head you're doing something that sounds like someone else, but it sounds totally different when it comes out."
It's also the worst thing that happens in the entertainment industry—when who you think you are isn't who they think you are. As Franz Ferdinand seem to be finding out. "I got recognized around the pool the other night," says Kapranos. "They were filming a party for the E! channel. It was really distressing because there were all these wanna-be celebrities. I was trying to get out of there before the Steven Seagal look-alike shook my hand, and I thought, 'Please, God, tell me I'm not of this world'." If Franz Ferdinand get much bigger, they may long to return to the Glasgow pubs. Sorry, guys, but Uncle Sam needs you.
Viva La Franz
With a great new CD, the quirky rockers Franz Ferdinand return to save MTV (and us) from a million bands with spiky hair. Just don't call them retro.
By Lorraine Ali
Newsweek
Oct. 17, 2005 issue - This year's Grammys were full of outsize superstar moments—Marc Anthony and J. Lo's soap-operatic duet, Usher's flashy dance number, that star-studded tribute to Southern rock. And then there were Franz Ferdinand. Dressed in drab colors and playing a jerky, lopsided dance tune, this strange little Scottish band looked as though they'd crashed the stage. "I looked out at the audience, and there was Janet Jackson and Usher and Dolly Parton," says Franz Ferdinand's Alex Kapranos, sitting poolside with his bandmates at Hollywood's Roosevelt Hotel. "It was like a wax museum where all the figures came to life. Backstage was even stranger, but at least Nick [McCarthy, the guitarist] got a picture with Ricky Martin." "Yeah," says McCarthy, beaming. "He put his arm around me. I look very, very small."
Franz Ferdinand doesn't mesh with the fit-and-tan crowd around the pool, either. They're six shades paler than everyone else and speak in a Scottish brogue so heavy it sounds like another language.
DRUMMER PAUL THOMSON: Can I get the bill, please?
WAITRESS: What?
THOMSON: Can I pay?
WAITRESS: You want a canopy?
THOMSON [Sighing]: Sure, a canopy and the bill.
Their music, at least, is speaking to American listeners loud and clear. Their self-titled 2004 debut CD went platinum, and their new album, "You Could Have It So Much Better," is likely to outpace it. No one could have predicted they'd do this well—apparently not even the folks at Sony who were indicted for paying radio stations to play singles by their artists, including Franz's "Take Me Out." (The label was fined $10 million; the band said they found the episode "embarrassing," but beyond their control.) The arty name was bad enough—Franz Ferdinand was the Austrian archduke whose assassination sparked World War I—but the band seemed to be doing that '80s thing: quavering vocals, spastic rhythms and enigmatic lyrics that bounced around like New Wavers on the dance floor. Still, their songs were good—and their timing was even better. Franz dropped their album just as other nonconformist rock bands, like the White Stripes, were gaining on monochromatic MTV pop-punk outfits. Of course, there's still a long way to go. Turn on the radio and you'll find that Franz and their ilk are still outnumbered by pierced screamers 4 to 1. "How many of those spiky-haired groups can exist?" asks Thomson. "It's like there's a factory somewhere in the Midwest that's churning 'em out by the hour."
Franz Ferdinand were probably lucky to have formed far away from such music-industry towns as L.A., New York and London. They were able to forge a sound and style in the comfortable obscurity of Glasgow's small lounges and pubs before anyone could latch onto them as underground rock's newest saviors. As a result, they own the music they play. "You Could Have It So Much Better" is catchier—even warmer and prettier—than their debut, and at the same time more substantial and complex. That doesn't mean they're getting all serious on us; they're just more confident. "There's a coldness about the sound of the first record which I always find difficult," says Kapranos. "It's like you're listening to somebody else playing behind a sheet of glass." Bassist Robert Hardy has his reservations, too. "I would have never bought our first record," he says. "I would've wanted to hate it. Then I would've heard it round my girlfriend's house—it'd be better than I thought it would be, but I still wouldn't admit it."
A lot of people had their reservations about Franz Ferdinand. Would they turn out to be a stylized flop like the Strokes? A one-trick pony whose trademark stunt was diving into a shallow pool of '80s kitsch? The guys in the band still bristle at that association. "I think because we had short back-and-sides haircuts, everybody presumes we're really into the '80s," says Kapranos—who's now grown his hair out. "I couldn't stand the decade. I wanted it to be the '60s." Presumably this is why their newest press release describes certain songs on "You Could Have It So Much Better" in terms of the Beatles (well, maybe) and Led Zeppelin (no way), rather than Gang of Four and New Order. "I think we have a huge Zeppelin thing going on," says Kapranos, apparently in earnest. "When we were recording this record, we kept thinking, 'Does this sound too much like "Kashmir"?' That's the best thing that happens in music—when in your head you're doing something that sounds like someone else, but it sounds totally different when it comes out."
It's also the worst thing that happens in the entertainment industry—when who you think you are isn't who they think you are. As Franz Ferdinand seem to be finding out. "I got recognized around the pool the other night," says Kapranos. "They were filming a party for the E! channel. It was really distressing because there were all these wanna-be celebrities. I was trying to get out of there before the Steven Seagal look-alike shook my hand, and I thought, 'Please, God, tell me I'm not of this world'." If Franz Ferdinand get much bigger, they may long to return to the Glasgow pubs. Sorry, guys, but Uncle Sam needs you.
Viva La Franz
