Franz Ferdinand The Human Fear

I’m not sure anyone asked for a new Franz Ferdinand album, but The Human Fear is here and it’s probably worth 35 minutes of your time just to hear the chorus of Cats. It’s unclear as to what Alex Kapranos was going for here, but my jaw certainly hit the floor with that last line:

“We love everyone
We love no one
Oh no but they'll never learn
They can try to put a lead on, try to put a lead on
But they'll never turn a cat into a dog”

Kapranos has described the recording of The Human Fear as a life-affirming experience. I’m delighted for him, but when Franz Ferdinand are playing the early evening heritage slot at various mid-tier summer festivals, no one will be screaming for the overworked Hooked or mediocre synth bop The Doctor.

There are jaunty little stabs at the band’s earlier post-punk revival sound, but even these are more of a pedestrian shuffle than an exuberant rush. Audacious is pleasant enough in a toe-tapping kind of way, but it’s still something of a misnomer. Elsewhere, the harder Kapranos flails around trying to recapture the magic of old, the more desperate and sad The Human Fear sounds.

There are a couple of highlights if you can call them that. Night or Day and Tell Me I Should Stay find the band in a more relaxed form, rewarding repeat listens in a way that the rest of the album certainly doesn’t. Ultimately, the brutal truth is that three half-decent tracks represent a meagre return for a band that once seemed a few steps ahead of their contemporaries. Those days are clearly gone, never to return. But as well as closing the book on Franz Ferdinand as a compelling creative force, The Human Fear is one of those wild misfires that makes you wonder if they were ever that good in the first place.