CD: Placebo - Loud Like Love

Back when Placebo were the androgynous face of late period Brit-pop, back when singer Brian Molko’s every sneered utterance was snapped up by a lapdog music media desperate to fuel their retro-guitar addiction, they were supremely annoying. They trod well-worn musical ground, did so with an unappealing, entitled arrogance, and sold millions. Like Suede, they even made sexual debauchery and ravenous drug-taking look dull and passé.

For one thing, in this age of white male vocal homogeneity – ie, the Coldplay-style falsetto voice-crack – Molko’s squeaky whine is rather refreshing. This is a minor point, though - what’s really appealing is the songs themselves, big things splashed with care over a broad canvas. The first couple are passable, tuneful alt-rock fare but then “Too Many Friends” wakes the listener up. Its opening line is “My computer thinks I’m gay,” then Molko casts a clear, sentiment-free eye on meaningless online relationships. “Too many friends, too many people that I’ll never meet and I’ll never be there for,” is how he puts it. His lyrics remain engaging throughout, much better than the usual opaque platitudes and generic stodge.

Sometimes the trio conjure widescreen guitar pop. “A Million Little Pieces” recalls Unforgettable Fire-era U2, and there’s a glitch-tronic epic, “Exit Wounds”, which starts off like Lou Reed but ends up sounding like a more tuneful Marilyn Manson. Then there’s the closer “Bosco”, a seven-minute piano ballad, possibly concerning a relationship dissolving under the strain of terminal hedonism.

Molko says that he’s now found the maturity to write more openly about love. Before you reach for the sick bag, he does appear, at 40 years of age, to have hit on something new - an intriguing midway path between his early music’s taunting spikiness and something larger.

 Overleaf: watch a video clip for "Rob the Bank"