Keane's Perfect Symmetry

If Coldplay are the dumbed-down Radiohead, then Keane are the dumbed-down Coldplay. Even Chris Martin’s blandest, soggiest moments sound like abrasive post-rock compared to Keane’s music, which is largely defined by “sweeping” choruses, “heartrending” lyrics and “beautiful” melodies – I write in quotations because that’s what these jolly lads from England think they’re doing. They’re not.

Instead of creating the new Joshua Tree – seemingly the goal of every commercially successful alt-rock band since U2 – Keane have done little of the sort, releasing two blockbusting albums so calculatedly soppy that they should have been sold with a box of Kleenex.

So when I say the band’s third album “Perfect Symmetry” is their best, you’ve got to take the statement in context: this is no masterpiece. But it is surprisingly fun, silly, and loose, and conclusive proof that miracles can still happen in contemporary pop: “Perfect Symmetry” is an artistic makeover from a band that brought new meaning to the words “unadventurous” and “monotonous.” Instead of trying to write another sequel to “A Rush of Blood to the Head,” Keane turned their sights on eighties pop, trading in their pianos for synths in an attempt to recapture the glitzy, shameless flamboyance of Duran Duran, A-Ha, and George Michael in their heydays.

It all sounds fun in theory, and you can imagine the headlines: “Coldplay-wannabes reinvent themselves as chic, slick disco poppers!” But does it work? Surprisingly enough, quite a bit of it does. Opener “Spiralling,” easily the album’s best moment, is an utter delight, channelling classic Duran Duran into a sublimely silly slice of bass-popping disco-funk. The bouncy “Better Than This” is also a delightfully infectious little number, filled with judiciously placed hand-claps and piano loops; and the same goes for the preposterous bubblegum pop of “Pretend that You’re Alone,” an apt name for a track that consciously seems to aim for “guilty pleasure” status. Sample lyric: “Forget about fashion, forget about fame…” But if we’re really going around giving points to every song for how well they recreate eighties pop, then the gold medal’s got to go to the title track, which imitates A-Ha’s sound so perfectly – chilly falsetto, stately melody, pompous lyrics and all – I had my fingers crossed for a remake of “Take On Me” somewhere on the second half of the album.

Sadly, that doesn’t happen. Where the first half of “Perfect Symmetry” is tasteless and irreverent in the very best way, the second half sees Keane return to auto-pilot, inundating listeners in an endless, solemn parade of dreary ballads. “Again & Again” is as monotonous as its title would suggest; “Black Burning Heart,” despite its rather melodramatic name, is about as emotionally raw as Celine Dion; and the only good thing about the synthetic drudgery of “Love is the End” is that it really is the end. And so an album that began with a bang of artistic endeavour flimsily peters out at its close, tripping up over itself in a mess of lovey-dovey clichés and self-conscious moping.

Last lyric of the album? “Don’t save us / don’t save us.” So it looks like Keane’s surprisingly successful attempt at recapturing the shameless, tasteless glam of decades past was nothing more than a diversion – a brief foray into the silly – and now the band’s back to recreating Coldplay, full-time. Don’t try to save ’em. -Adam Tanaka