Patrick Wolf: Lupercalia

Patrick Wolf
Lupercalia
Rating: Jeez Lady

Writing songs about love is a tricky business. Few do it well, and, for the most part, the majority do it cloyingly. Based on his previous albums, Patrick Wolf seems an unlikely candidate to deliver a straight up record of love songs. On Lycanthropy and Wind In The Wires, Wolf presented a persona of his own devise, working in dark textures, combining traditional folk elements with chilly laptop electronics. Both records are simultaneously challenging and charming, and made Wolf and artist worth watching. The success of those records brought him to a new label and bigger budget and the resulting album The Magic Position showed him working with a broader range of instruments, and even writing some of his most upbeat material, and placed Wolf at the cusp of crossing over into the mainstream. Instead of propelling him to the next level, the follow up The Bachelor found Wolf retreating to a darker, more electro-tinged sound, complete with pretentious voice overs from friend Tilda Swinton. The album had mixed critical and popular success and a planned second part to the album was scuttled. The dark place chronicled with The Bachelor appears to have disappeared, as Lupercalia finds Wolf in giddy love and wanting to profess it from the highest mountaintop and at full volume. I don't have an issue with someone writing love songs, but they are done so often and so poorly, that they have to be done in a fresh way in order to have any sort of relevance. Wolf, whose feelings I am not denying, unfortunately becomes one of the worst offenders, believing his feelings are unique and "the greatest love of the century," and becomes that annoying friend of yours whose relationship is all-consuming to the point of nausea.

"Bermondsey Street" with the already mentioned treacly lyric about "the greatest love of the century" is really what pinpoints the mistakes Wolf makes on Lupercalia, laying on thick sentiments that he feels are profound, but instead comes across belabored teenage diary entries.



"The City" finds Wolf attempting his hand at a big Broadway-esque opening number, filled to the brim with excess instrumentation, and trying to throw out a chorus with a hook that could land a whale. This misbegotten attempt is laughable right down to the already overplayed 80s sax solo.



"Slow Motion" and "The Days" are two consecutive ballads that are almost indistinguishable from each other, toying with similar waltz-like tempos and sugary strings.





In his attempts to create a pop album, Wolf basically scrubs away any personality he once possessed. The songs over the course of the album stagnate and fester, ultimately fading quickly into the background. Songs like "The Future" and "Armistice" could easily fit on any Top 40 singles artist's album, banal and wanting. Only a couple of times does the flashes of brilliance Wolf has exhibited in the past appear, and lend a glimpse into what the album could have been had Wolf decided to not pander to the most common denominator. The quirky mini-ballad "William" shows more guts and inventiveness in its 50 seconds than the rest of the album in its entirety. And "Together," which finally takes a slightly darker approach, using a bed of drum machines and synth bass to propel the strings and the song along instead of miring them in studio wankery.



Lupercalia is a frustrating album because all the pieces of Patrick Wolf's talent are still evident, it is just he doesn't know what he wants. He likes being the effete artiste, bending borders and confounding expectations, but he also wants to be hugely successful (and has been very vocal about that want). I do believe he could have both, but he doesn't trust his audience or himself, which in turn creates a sort of snobbish pandering of the worst kind. I am not willing to give up on Wolf yet, he is too talented to completely ignore, but if this is any indication of the direction he continues to follow, my patience might be wearing thin.

Rating Guide

Chilfos: masterpiece; coolest thing I've heard in ages.

Woof Daddy: excellent; just a hair away from being a masterpiece.

Grrrr: very good; will definitely be considered for my top releases of the year.

Yeah Daddy Make Me Want It: good; definitely invites further listens and peaks one's interest for more material.

Meh: not horrible, but certainly not great; could have either been polished, trimmed, or re-thought.

Jeez Lady: what the hell happened? Just plain bad. They should hang their heads in shame and be forced to listen to Lady Gaga ad nauseam as penance.

Tragicistani: so bad, armed villagers with pitchforks and torches should run the artist out of the country for inflicting this abomination on the human race.