The Divine Comedy - 'Bang Goes The Knighthood' (Divine Comedy Records) Released 31/05/10

There are few rewards for longevity of service in the music industry. If anything, the opposite is the case. No matter how excited people may have been about you when you first arrived, once you’ve been around a while they will soon get sick of you, and be ready to move on to the next big thing. The current trend of legendary but ageing bands reforming is generally accepted to be a money-earner rather than anything to get excited about musically, and woe betide you if you never had the decency to split up in the first place, but rather kept plugging away for donkey’s years despite tumultuous public opprobrium. See U2 for details. 

Neil Hannon has been hammering at The Divine Comedy anvil for over 20 years now, and to risk further accusation of self-indulgence, ditched his band halfway through that period and continued putting out albums under the same name by playing everything himself. Now in 2010, tenth album ‘Bang Goes The Knighthood’ promises an acerbic swipe at the current state of post-financial meltdown Britain, and music critics everywhere steel themselves for a cynical, cringeworthy attempt to wring another payday out of The Divine Comedy product.

What a pleasure it is then, to find material here that is not only as essential as any previous Divine Comedy record, but which offers a subtle new nuance to the sound, making this as worthy a purchase for newcomers as for longstanding fans.  

‘The Complete Banker’, which could so easily have turned out a trite attempt at righteousness, is both on-the-mark witty and a compellingly catchy tune to boot, while the title track provides an interesting extension to the MPs’ expenses scandal in song.

‘Assume The Perpendicular’ and ‘The Lost Art of Conversation’ are classic Divine Comedy, the latter in particular a brilliantly observed piece on the death of social interaction in the TV/DVD/games console age, offering up “David Jason, Francis Bacon, Frank Lampard” as potential subjects for us to start discussing. ‘Neapolitan Girl’ is a typical Hannon trick of finding obscure stories, this time from second world wartime Italy, to mould into 21st century chamber pop songs, and there is even single release potential all the way at track 12 in ‘I Like’.

The album’s highlight, though, must come in the shape of ‘At The Indie Disco’ at track 5. One of those simple, innocent, but perfectly formed indie hits more usually created by accident on a band’s first album, it is testament to Hannon’s tireless avoidance of cynical fatigue, and to the continuing wonder of music in general, that ten albums in he has hit upon the magic formula that turns seven musical notes into a timeless, perfectly crafted pop song. Its reminiscence of the salad days of every music fan will give goosebumps to anyone over the age of 30 (“we drink and talk about stupid stuff/then hit the floor for Tainted Love), whilst, like holding up one mirror to another and seeing endless reflections, the track itself could easily have been one that the indie kids in the song used to dance along to all those years ago.

Less an album than a set of show tunes, The Divine Comedy fare might not be to everyone’s taste, but there are no signs here that Hannon’s days on the music scene are numbered.