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It’s been three years since the last Placebo studio album. I don’t know how that feels for everyone else, but for me that’s bloody ages to be without new material from the queens of alt rock. Nothing is more reassuring than the band who never change.
Well hang on, they sort of have. In their hiatus they’ve got a new drummer and new record label. And it’s taken its toll. I hope you haven’t been holding your breath because for this one with 'Battle For The Sun', Placebo finally seem to have pushed their luck too far.
Its not that this record is a million miles away from what Placebo have done before. Indeed, it’s recognisable all the way through – predominantly because of THAT bitter sweet androgynous voice. Yet it lacks the real genius of what went before. The album just doesn't showcase the broad range that Placebo are capable of.
Instead, from the huge opening riff of ‘Kitty Litter’, it's a brash, in-your-face affair. Even the sombre finale ‘Kings of Medicine’ lacks some of the subtlety or tenderness that is so idiosyncratic of this angst-ridden unit. It’s like Brian Molko’s cherry cola has gone flat. There also seems creative material is at a premium. The usual abundance of clever wordplay has turned into slightly turgid act of repetition, as demonstrated by ‘Devil In the Details’. And this is ignoring the frankly annoying ‘Ashtray Heart’.
There are a few saving graces. ‘Battle for the Sun’, with its metallic pulsing bass line, relives some of the passion of the older days, while ‘Speaking in Tongues’ comes closest to the tender mix that made the old stuff so good. Finally, the bombast and production on ‘For What It’s Worth’ make it one to track down for a nostalgia trip of how far this band has come. Yet the goods are too far and few between to overly effect the outcome for this one.
Personally, I hope to look back at this album in six months and understand why I didn't instantly think I couldn’t always be without it. But I just don’t think its going to grow on me like this. Like a paint by numbers doesn’t make an exact Picasso, without the necessary angst and nuances, neither does this album feel a complete Placebo offering.
The sun has clearly not set on this act. But from this offering, it’s not getting any brighter.
