Faithless
The Dance
(Liberator)
I first saw Faithless play in a tiny club in the north of England way back in ’96. It was one of those gigs where no one expected much from anyone else in the room. The small crowd was there more out of habit than anything else. Most of us had no real idea of who Faithless were, and band members Rollo, Sister Bliss and Maxi Jazz looked out wearily over the sweaty, frowning faces, probably wishing they could be anywhere else at that moment.
An hour later there was a buzzing sense of excitement in the club, that unique, thrilling feeling you get as a punter when you know you’ve just seen something special that no one else knows about just yet. Part of you wants to keep it to yourself, for the band you’ve just witnessed to be your own private secret, but part of you knows that will be impossible, that it’s only a matter of time before every moron in a souped-up Mitsubishi Lancer is pumping their tracks through open windows whilst stuck in traffic, biting their bottom lip and punching the air.
The band were just as surprised as anyone by the electric response to now overplayed anthems like ‘Insomnia’ and ‘Salva Mea’. At the end of the gig, they descended from the stage into the open arms of the crowd, Maxi Jazz looking stunned as everyone slapped him on the back as he made his way to the bar. I tried my best to chat up Sister Bliss, but she was having none of it.
Twelve million records and five albums later, Faithless are still around, and they've released their sixth studio album, The Dance. It’s been fourteen years since they first wowed dancefloors with their debut album Reverence, and four years since they’ve recorded anything at all. Straight away, you can tell there’s something badly wrong here. Bowing out are big label Sony BMG (alarm bells), coming in are guest vocalists Blancmange and Dido (remember her? She’s Rollo’s sister).
So what has changed for Faithless? What can these electronic pioneers bring to the table in the second decade of the 21st Century? Sadly, nothing new whatsoever. The Dance is a complete anachronism. It’s as if nothing has happened in music over the last 15 years, or at least nothing to which Faithless have paid any attention. The Dance feels like Reverence: The B-Sides.
All the familiar Faithless tropes are in evidence here, right from the get-go. Maxi Jazz whispers seductively over a simplistic beat that builds to a crescendo before breaking it down. Repeat ad infinitum. Opening track ‘Not Going Home’, the poorly-judged ‘Tweak Your Nipple’, ‘Feelin’ Good’ and ‘Sun To Me’ are all sub-par versions of seminal Faithless tracks from the past. To give listeners a break, the odd soulful ballad is thrown in; this is where they trot out what they seem to believe is a trump card in the form of Dido, who sounds like she’s just woken up from the bed of money that I assume she sleeps on. It’s a little like being visited by a boring aunt you briefly thought was a nice old dear when you were a kid but whose existence is now little more than an embarrassing family secret.
Embarrassment was something I felt several times over when listening to this, particularly on the ridiculously jovial ‘Feel Me’, a cover of the 1982 Blancmange hit that unforgivably drags vocalist Neil Arthur back from whatever New Wave prison they’ve been wisely keeping him in. Seven-and-a-half minutes of his dodgy shouting and ranting indicates that some relics deserve to remain covered in dust.
In a way it’s a track that typifies the drive behind the monumental error of judgment that is The Dance: the idea of resurrecting a former glory in the hope of finding a new audience. Good luck to them and everything, but I wouldn’t bet my house on it woring. For those of you who like to party like it’s 1996, seek out this album. You’ll have your hands in the air all over again, though be careful you don’t get a crick in your back. For those who like their sounds a little fresher, avoid the cloying nostalgia of this sadly irrelevant record. Faithless are long past their prime.
Chris Flynn