Few albums start with deliberate ambient feedback, but then again few bands are like Talk Talk. It's almost impossible to discuss them without mentioning how their music changed, indeed many fans will choose one half of their career and listen exclusively to those tracks, and for good reason - a pop band releasing an album with no hooks is unexpected without context.
Laughing Stock is like a brother to Talk Talk's previous album, Spirit of Eden, largely building on the ideas the band had for Spirit. The two are remarkably similar in cover art (birds draping a tree), album structure (six tracks on each), and even release date (16th September). The album was constructed in a similar way to Spirit too, with various session musicians and hours of improvised sessions in darkness, cut and reassembled into the album it became - my CD copy features all performing musicians on the back, which I find touching as often the full list is hidden away in the liner notes. The main differences, though, is that this album came out on Polydor, not EMI as with previous Talk Talk releases, following court cases and the release of compilations criticised by the band; and Paul Webb, the bassist, is no longer present - it's down to Lee Harris on drums and Mark Hollis on vocals and piano, with Tim Friese Greene as always producing.
I can't accurately describe what the music is like, it's a very unique sound which doesn't let itself be repetitive for more than a few seconds, and as such I find myself only able to write a few sentences for what is some of my favourite music. I personally don't think Laughing Stock can be analysed like a standard album for the reasons already mentioned, and I don't think it needs to be reviewed, either. It works well as a statement, one better listened to than read about.
Myrrhman begins with ambient feedback, silence occasionally broken up by a few notes of instrumentation and Hollis' yearning vocals, in what is a raw, imperfect opening to an album. The strings on this track are especially beautiful amongst the chaos, culminating in a moving motif that closes out the track. It's like dawn has arrived, a sunrise breaking through the night, bringing slight warmth. It's a stunning piece that's soothing yet unsettling, one that best reflects Hollis' ethos of playing nothing instead of one note.
Ascension Day, meanwhile, is more contemplative, full of guilt as one presumably faces judgement for their sins. That's my interpretation, anyways - Hollis' cryptic lyrics don't reveal much, and the melancholic guitar riff central to the song evokes this for me too. However, it gets phenomenal towards the end, as the drums begin to cascade and the instruments start playing the same, almost trancelike melody, before it abruptly stops, apparently due to an error in the recording of the track. (I wonder whether Portishead heard this and decided to do something similar with Silence on their album Third.) However, I think it works well for the sequencing, as its franticness gives way to After the Flood, a more meditative song, surprisingly well.
What starts as a few piano notes becomes a piece centred around the organ riffs, swirling amidst the music, as Hollis' vocals become a plea, singing "lest we forget who lay", lingering on the last syllable before the iconic Variophon riff. Specifically, it's malfunctioning, thus creating a unique sound that barges in, with the song continuing to flow undeterred with it. It took some getting used to when I first listened to Laughing Stock, though I'd now argue it stops the song from feeling too repetitive, as the rest of the track largely repeats itself.
Curiously, my CD copy of Laughing Stock closes out After the Flood, moving onto Taphead with a few odd notes, yet it seems this is more an anomaly than the standard. I personally prefer the two tracks crossfading, though it doesn't make too large a difference.
Taphead is magnificent - what's initially a bass and Hollis' vocals transforms into a melancholic orchestra, with soaring strings and brief Variophon notes that remain suspended, eventually trailing out as Hollis sings once again, a final organ note playing out before the song becomes New Grass. It's another song that emphasises the importance of silence and puts each instrument at the forefront, and to me feels like walking in a tunnel, before emerging into the light, relieved the fear has gone.
New Grass is deceptively simple, the drums and guitar largely remain the same, with other instruments slowly fading in and out with Hollis singing about how "someday Christendom will come", and whilst the lyrics have religious undertones, I think it's more about finding peace in general. Each verse is broken up by simple piano notes, with the general structure largely remaining the same. It's its apparent simplicity that makes New Grass work so well; perhaps the most accessible song on the album, it's the one that appealed most to me on first listen (especially the instrumental) and emphasises the beauty of life and the world. It's a comforting song, full of hope, sorrow and nostalgia in equal doses.
Runeii would thus be twilight for me, the closing of a day. The bass notes that open the track, the faint studio noises in the background, Hollis' intimate singing, all make it feel more personal than the rest of the album, with the organ and piano a charming touch. It's a fitting end to Talk Talk's music, and makes for an amusing comparison with their dramatic first single, especially as it too fades into feedback and recording is finished.
Forty minutes fly by as you listen to the album, with none of the tracks feeling overdrawn and none of the instruments feeling out of place. It works well as a record that grows on you, one that works well after the end of a long day, and one that is especially better as art, not as a collection of songs. Indeed, few albums work as well as Laughing Stock in reminding you of the beauty of the world and nature, and so it shouldn't be so surprising many bands cite Talk Talk as an influence from the strength of this album alone.
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