It’s pretty 21st century for an album to be named after a psycho sexual urge towards a cartoon character.
Whilst Roger’s damsel in distress has caught the attention of more men over the years than will care to admit it, Jessica Rabbit is also appropriately multi-faceted enough to cater for the dichotomous cultural mores of now.
Sleigh Bells – singer Alexis Krauss and the Lepus obsessed guitarist Derek Miller – describe themselves rather cutely as a pop duo, but that hardly tells the tale. Making a noise somewhere between Crystal Castles and Carly Rae Jepsen, the pair have opted on this their fourth album to take absolutely no prisoners, and fittingly given its title, the dominant tone is more than a little over the top, whilst never taking itself too seriously.
This scorched earth policy starts appropriately enough with opener It’s Just Us Now, Miller laying out a cock rock screech that sticks its gum to the underside of your chair whilst his co-conspirator flails away at her vocals as if the words may be her very last. It doesn’t take long to get an idea of just how much fun they’re having with this: Crucible and Throw Me Down The Stairs are both highly strung but still playful, the latter with Krauss in full cry, up in some unfortunate’s grill like a she-bitch from hell, or worse.
It would be easy to be a little blasé about the fare on offer here, as consumed superficially the moving parts are largely familiar. But Miller has revealed the inner turmoil which manifests itself as perfectionism, a way of working which made the creation of Jessica Rabbit more tortuous than its over slickness gives a clue to. In this expanded context the quieter moments here – such as Hyper Dark and Loyal For – seem far less incongruous when juxtaposed against some of their peers. The former sits moodily towards the close, consisting of peeling guitar and wide open spaces into which Krauss steers a weary course, whispering “I think we have a problem” over tentative pads. To all intents and purposes, this is a ballad, or what passes in SB country for one.
If the notes to self are sometimes obvious and sometimes not, the pair have still managed to connect back to the late last century’s wily fundamentals: mining an age when big and between the eyes were not just considerations but songwriting pre-requisites, the pursuit of a golden age is done with some panache. The key exhibits for the prosecution lay in the ribald dismissal of I Can’t Stand You Anymore, but especially with I Can Only Stare, a slab of lustful stalking which swings with an off kilter r&b swagger and histrionic keyboards, the result a brilliant, desperate/deviant snarl that’s clearly SB’s take on conformity to deform.
It gets to you that way sometimes. Doing whatever you want can’t always feel good, but surprising yourself and everyone else by doing what they don’t expect can feel deliciously better. Jessica Rabbit may belong on celluloid but her appeal was universal.
Sleigh Bells have captured minds – and like her they may now start doing the same with our hearts.
