The Verve - Forth

With the release of Forth, it must seem like the Verve is doing something right for a change, after having so many things go wrong.

The UK band, led by self-styled rock star Richard Ashcroft, faced career sabotage several times. After releasing a debut album to critical success in the early ’90s, the band got in trouble for trashing hotel rooms, then got in legal trouble from an American label with the same name. All the while, the band was said to be heavily drugged, which led to a split after the next album.

Then, after reuniting with indispensable guitarist Nick McCabe, the Verve came out with Urban Hymns, the 1997 album you no doubt remember from the still ubiquitous single "Bitter Sweet Symphony." But the international hit, with its string sample looped into oblivion, brought more legal action. The band split again.

And now, 10 years later, the Verve has reunited and given us some new psychedelic, symphonic pop songs. It’s genius planning, too, whether intentional or not. If Forth had come out a year or two after Urban Hymns, people probably would have said the Verve was just retreading the same path it had traveled before, but not as successfully. After all, any album that comes after a hit as gigantic as "Bitter Sweet Symphony" feels like a letdown to the masses.

Now, though, anything by the Verve sounds downright nostalgic (we won’t count Ashcroft’s dismal solo offerings). With extraordinarily high cheekbones intact, Ashcroft still looks the part, too. It’s easy to say, "I remember these guys. They had some good tunes. I’m glad they’re back."

But it’s a trap. Don’t fall for it. The majority of this album is, to use a culturally appropriate term, rubbish.

The Verve’s fourth (get it?) record has little to match some of Urban Hymns’ best, like "Sonnet" and "The Drugs Don’t Work." The eight-minute "Noise Epic" has Ashcroft delivering spoken-word ramblings amid dreamy, shoegaze atmospherics with a buzzy epilogue tacked on the end instructing listeners to "wake up." There’s some noise in there for sure, but epic? Nah.

The radio-ready first single "Love Is Noise" strives to be both edgy and huge, a tough tightrope. The verses lament the overarching ills of modern society ("Will those feet in modern times, walk on soles made in China?") while the built-for-a-stadium chorus laments the pitfalls of love ("Love is noise/Love is pain/Love is these blues that I’m singing again"). The song has a great beat, and it seems like it should be an anthemic call to arms, but with each spin the aftertaste feels more bitter and less sweet.

As much flak as Coldplay gets for complementing its artistic arena rock with lyrics that don’t always penetrate, Ashcroft could stand to take a few lessons from Chris Martin. The platitudinous songwriting is like a low-carb version of Coldplay Lite. Take "Valium Skies": "She got all I need, yeah the air I breathe/And when it comes to my Valium skies, she don’t mind if I cry."

"Judas" is the Verve’s attempt at a U2 song, complete with interspersed falsetto and pretty strings laying the base with understated, delayed guitar riffs. There’s even religious imagery. Sounds good, right? Ah, but again, those words. This line was the most egregious to my ears: "New York, I was Judas. She said a latte, double shot for Judas."

Forth also reeks of Ashcroft’s rock-star posturing. Even the cover depicts sun rays and clouds that should signal a triumphant return. But the only thing that shines through is a realization that 10 years after the Verve’s breakthrough into popular culture, dozens of bands have altered the group’s recipe to create works that far surpass their forefathers’ efforts.

Also at The Other Paper