Geoffrey O’Connor
Vanity is Forever
(Chapter Music)
This record is proudly indebted to the ‘80s. If your parents pumped corporate pop through state-of-the-art hi-fi speakers in 1987, rather than say, in the car, or via some low-watt kitchen radio, you’ll settle into Vanity is Forever nicely. Melbourne's Geoffrey O’Connor has stopped short of emulating the prevailing broadcast fidelities of the era (as many of his more esoteric contemporaries do) but rest assured if Berlin’s ‘Take My Breath Away’ makes you teary, or if you believe Talk Talk’s old stuff is better than their new stuff, you’ll find a lot to enjoy here.
Because of its modern sheen, this is the least “meta” ‘80s record you’re likely to hear in 2011, and if that doesn’t mean anything to you then you’re lacking a certificate in Retro-Fetishist Music Blogs 101. Fear not though, because with Geoffrey you’re in good hands. As songwriter for the comparatively innocent Crayon Fields, O’Connor has been crafting pop songs for the better part of the century, and despite the cosmetic differences here he’s still very good at it. The big change is O’Connor’s demeanour: Vanity is Forever is lusty, entitled, confident and sometimes vaguely ominous. “If it's only my vanity that keeps me pretty and young / surely that's good”, he sings during 'Surely'. Sometimes you’re left with the (kinda fun) suspicion that O’Connor has morphed into indie rock’s Patrick Bateman.
Short of being overtly ironic, O’Connor’s sincerity here is a little impure, but this could be the result of decades of cultural conditioning on the listener's (read: this critic's) part. It’s difficult not to be reminded of love-struck yuppies in an '80s rom-com during the call-and-response with Jessica Venables on ‘Things I Shouldn’t Do’, which proceeds with the misty-lensed amour of romance in upheaval. For the first four songs at least, Vanity is Forever is designedly hollow: the dominant synth-lines are imperviously lacquered and gorgeous, but it’s hard to ignore what these sounds will connote to listeners of a certain age; harder still to discern what O'Connor intended. To my ears it’s redolent of sumptuous ‘80s corporate excess; a crowded VHS tableau of Richard Geres and Julia Roberts. O’Connor’s selection of synths, the way the bass lines latch strictly to the 4/4, and the very fact this record is called Vanity is Forever, suggests that’s no accident.
The album definitely keeps the listener at arms length, with even the bright lead single ‘Waiting For You’ sounding a bit two-faced in the context of the album proper. O’Connor’s voice, gentle and shy with the Crayon Fields, is rendered comparable to any number of hilariously daggy and obscure Salvos LP crooners when super-imposed on this glossy backdrop. Awkwardly alluring as it is, the tone of the record is weirdly opaque: whether this is homage, nostalgia or just a bit of a joke is never clear.
Unsolved mysteries aside, Vanity is Forever is as addictive as anything O’Connor has done in the past. There are moments when the period drama subsides and spectres of his old solo concern, Sly Hats, emerge, but these are notably during the more “organic” moments, where guitar or piano rules. Vanity is Forever may discomfort some and confuse others, but there’s an appealing tragedy to the style O’Connor is plundering here: a sentimental, yet fickle, luxurious pop that is as bemusing as it is at times deeply sad. Nostalgia is the new everything.
Shaun Prescott