Gob Almighty – 8/10
Johnny Borrell backs up the big mouth with a debut full of scuzz rock thrills
If I was to start this review by declaring myself the greatest writer or my generation, you might read it with a vat-load of salt, right? If I compared these very words, not to those of my colleagues, but to Lester Bangs, Oscar Wilde and Charles Dickens, you might mutter something along the lines of “fuck right off”, yeah? Well, that’s the position Razorlight frontman Johnny Borrell finds himself in as judgement day descends on his band’s debut album. For month’s he’s mouthed off in a manner that makes Liam Gallagher look like Stuart Murdoch’s speech therapist. For this we should applaud him: it’s entertaining, it makes NME’s job a piece of piss and is everything we demand of a well-cheekboned rock star. But now he’s made us look, he’s gotta make us listen…
So, before we tell you why ‘Up All Night’ is such a great record, lets indulge in the noble art of knocking the lad down a peg or two. This debut is a far from perfect record. For starters, there are occasions where Johnny’s ‘beat poetry’ becomes teeth-grindingly bad: “She’s been reading Bukowski for days…” goes ‘In The City’, demonstrating a poetic ability that’s more Ringo than Rimbaud. Add to this the fact that songs filch heavily from Television (especially the opening guitar squiggles of ‘To The Sea’), The Strokes and Patti Smith and we’ve got a case to have Johnny Borrell expelled from these pages forever, right?
Wrong. For all its flaws, ‘Up All Night’ bristles with passion, energy and, most importantly, amazing songs.
The singles we already know – the punkoid jitters of ‘Rock N Roll Lies’, ‘Rip It Up’’s two-minute demand to remain on every indie-club playlist for the next ten years and, of course, the Midas-magic of ‘Golden Touch’. And do you know what? These re-recorded versions sound even better. The good news is that Razorlight see the need for a filler like The Datsuns see the need for Kant’s Critique Of Pure Reason. ‘In The City’ feels way more epic than its five minutes may suggest, working itself up into something so frenzied we forgive it for ripping garage standard ‘Gloria’ wholesale. ‘Vice’, meanwhile, is their best track yet; Johnny’s voice yelping through a climax that could tingle the coldest spine (“Sometimes you fall / Into the arms of / No-one at all). For all Johnny’s lofty poetic ambitions, it works in its simplicity. Likewise ‘Don’t Go Back To Dalston’, a poignant plea to Pete Doherty (“Don’t go back to Dalston / Just come on back to me”) which fits just as well as the most basic of love songs.
Oh yeah, for those reading outside the M25, Dalston’s a dilapidated part of east London infested with crackheads. Get used to this kind of reference, because the only way ‘Up All Night’ could be any more London is if its release was delayed by a signalling failure at Camden. Yet it’s no alienating, look-at-our-clique-rock-posse record. Just like Suede or The Slits, it sings of London in a fuck-me-I’m-going-to-pack-my-bags-tomorrow-and-move-to-the-smoke type way (at least until you find out the rent prices and settle for Slough instead).
We must give credit, of course, to Bjorn, Carl and Christian (now replaced by amiable train-leaper Andy Burrows). Yes, this record is Johnny’s vision, Johnny’s statement, Johnny’s labour of love, but his songs could have ended up as sprawling ego-fests were it not for the stop-start rhythms, ultra-tight basslines and jagged riffs, all restraining Johnny during the moments you can tell he’s about to unleash a stream-of-consciousness word-splurge about what he had for breakfast. And if the band’s influences are well-thumbed, then so be it – at least they know how to cut out the dross and squeeze other band’s entire back catalogues into three-minute bursts of ampheta-pop.
Saved by the song then, Razorlight’s debut packs more tunes than Franz, more spirit than the Strokes and more balls than nearly every band out there right now. Is it as good as Johnny thinks it is? No. But as the man who walked from the Libertines just as things began going their way, he has a lot to prove, so it is the sound of four guys pouring their heart and souls into a record. Johnny Borrell’s made many outlandish claims in these pages – genius songwriter, better than Dylan, the guy who can solve world poverty (well, it’s only a matter of time). Slowly but surely, they’re proving themselves to be not that outlandish after all. By the way, he reckons ‘Up All Night’ is the perfect document of “living with passion, spirit, spark and desire in the dirty old city”. Doubters beware: Bigmouth’s about to strike again..
This odd British/Swedish agglomeration is regarded with huge suspicion in some critical quarters. Some feel that it is a manufactured indie band too in thrall to the Strokes; others that the frontman Johnny Borrell’s tendency to self-aggrandisement is irritating (he compares himself to both Orson Welles and Bob Dylan).
Borrell is certainly no shrinking violet, but the rake-thin Dave Grohl lookalike has a point — Razorlight’s debut is fantastic, a dizzying cocktail of pin-sharp guitar dynamics, deeply romantic lyrics and monstrous tunes.
Those who review Razorlight dimly point to the fact that Borrell was inspired to form his band after seeing the Strokes in 2002 and that songs such as Stumble and Fall owe a certain jagged edge to the American walking cheekbones. And they would have a point if only Stumble and Fall and every other song on this 13-track masterpiece were not so vastly superior to nearly everything in the Strokes’ canon.
Their influences also stretch a little further than Television and Blondie. The raucous In the City is reminiscent of both Velvet Underground and the Glitter Band, while Golden Touch’s simple guitar line is filched from the Cure’s 10.15 Saturday Night.
That Up All Night transcends its influences is down to Borrell’s inability to pen flimsy tunes and his hoarse, torn voice that infects these songs with desperate pleading. This is a thrilling record of ragged glory and one of the albums of the year so far.
First things first. No, Johnny Borrell isn’t a genius. No boundaries are pushed on this record. That didn’t stop Definitely Maybe or The Stone Roses from being great debuts and Up All Night belongs with those albums.
The reason for Razorlight’s joy is simple – confidence with sharp, erudite lyrics to back up Borrell’s more grandiose claims.
Anybody with as many outstanding, infectious songs as these would shout about them. So why shouldn’t he?
John Earls
The hushed air of expectation surrounds this guitar-toting foursome, whose knack for a tune and strutting attitude has drawn comparisons with Oasis.
So does their debut album deliver? Oh yes. It rips along with pace and verve, chock full of deft melodies underpinned by an assured rock ‘n’ roll swagger.
Singer Johnny Borrell’s self-belief shines through, mixing the rawness of CBGB’s punk with Franz Ferdinands suss.
Named after a visit to London’s Kings Cross, Up All Night reeks of decadent urban glamour and the energy of dreams.
Razorlight frontman Johnny Borrell has, indisputably, a face like an incontinent stroke victim. He’s a slack-jawed indie-mutant with a perpetual, hangdog expression that’s as keen and incisive as a Big Brother contestant.
However, indie world is a wonderful place where a man can be as beautiful as his music and it’s a powerful testament to the quality of Razorlight’s debut that Mr Borrell is in fact considered quite a dish by pretty much everyone up to and including our own John Kennedy (not a man given to gushing over pretty boy pop stars).
Happily, this incongruous elevation to the ranks of the beautiful people is thoroughly deserved (musically if not aesthetically). ‘Vice’’s broad, bold guitar strokes are the first surefire sign of genius at work, with Borrell delivering the lines like he’s inciting an oppressed people to revolt - “I heard you say/Sometimes you fall/Into the arms/Of no-one at all.” It’s worth growing your hair long just so you can dance to it properly.
If there’s a coherent style to ‘Up All Night’ it’s one that’s buried deep beneath the half English, half Swedish band’s casual eclecticism. This lack of plot though, is in many ways Razorlight’s greatest strength. From the Strokes-style metronome riffs of the title track to the gravel-throated Libertines vocals on ‘Which Way Is Out’ and ‘In The City’’s spoken-word, Streets-level observations, Razorlight are not so much a directionless outfit as a band who’ve successfully co-opted the best elements of their surroundings into their own broad aesthetic.
Nonetheless, if you were checking ‘Up All Night’ for flaw’s this sometime lack of identity would be it. But if the idea of a debut album that could pass itself off as a best of the ‘90s compilation fires your imagination then get yourself a Johnny Borrell poster and get ready to swoon over Razorlight.
Dave Collyer
Less than two years old, Razorlight have already absorbed much of what is wonderful, compulsive and sheer heart-on-your-sleeve fantastic about the music we love at Xfm. In just one listen you can pick out a Strokes riff or a Libertine vocal here, a Smiths-esque tale of alienation or a piece of Streets-worthy observation there. All of it at once instantly familiar and gloriously new.
'Up All Night' is better than any debut has a right to be. From 'Leave Me Alone's polka-piano intro it grabs the attention. 'Rip It Up's incendiary chorus, 'Dalston's cautionary smalltown tales, 'Rock n Roll Lies' plaintive harmonies and carefree handclaps. As with all genius the appeal of 'Up All Night' is in the details and there're hundreds of them to discover - from the title track's guitar sound gradually decaying from a shiny chime to a muddy fuzz to the spoken word shift of 'In The City', painting a nightlife portrait like The Strokes doing The Streets.
Whether it's 'Vice' and 'Golden Touch' swooping and wheeling with the confidence of a band well into their second decade, 'Stumble and Fall's riffs (choppy like the North Sea on a bad day) or one of the hundreds of other little moments that'll make you prick up your ears and fall in love, fall in love you will.
“Sometimes I stumble and fall” sings Johnny Borrell on the emotionally inebriated single that is called ‘Stumble And Fall’. Sometimes you say? Fuck me if the word “fall” ain’t like Mark E Smith’s teeth when tackling corn-on-the-cob – it’s all over the shop! Throughout the album it pops up, right up to the end, where Borrell does a cheeky little Dylan impression on a track called – would you believe it? – ‘Fall Fall Fall’. Whatever his preoccupation with falling, however, ‘Up All Night’ sees Johnny and pals turning in a debut album that pretty much doesn’t put a foot wrong.
Razorlight are the sound of what could have been achieved had Jarvis Cocker fronted The Strokes – fusing cigarette-stained, asthmatic guitar sounds with glamour-flaunting, pop-centric songwriting. The cocksure posturing of Pulp at their apex permeates almost every aspect, thrusting forth with hipswingin’, Jacko-baitin’ audacity on the exquisite ‘Vice’, throwing Strokes guitars over the black humour of ‘Get It And Go’ (“We talked all night about suicide / and she said , ‘If this is living, how come I never feel alive?’”), and tripping the hard fandango with The Clash on album highlight ‘Don’t Go Back To Dalston’ – three minutes of tempestuous genius that shows up the Strokes for the factitious posers they are. Razorlight are the sound every post-Casablancas band starting with “The” has been striving for. In short, ‘Up All Night’ is the album you’ve quite literally been waiting for…
Go take the plunge with Razorlight. I, for one, have fallen.
Johnny Borrell and Robbie Williams may both have planet-sized egos, but while Robbie World is a gas giant of no substance, Planet Borrell is composed of solid rock, inhabited solely by ragged-trousered, snot-nosed street urchins. Let’s get the inevitable Libertines comparisons out of the way now.
Yes, there are undoubted similarities, but the Razorlight ragamuffins lack the ramshackle charm of the Libs, that ‘live’ frisson of teetering on the brink of chaos and not quite toppling over, the infectious onstage camaraderie… They also lack a member intent on self-destruction, and have far and away better tunes; this eagerly awaited, chart-slashing debut is a much more accomplished, polished and passionate proposition than the Libs’ frankly lacklustre forthcoming second album. Having been hyped to the high heavens, as much by self-aggrandising motor-mouthed Borrell himself as by the nation’s music press, this is not the earth-shatteringly good platter we all weren’t actually expecting anyway, but it’s bloody good all the same.
The brief tinkly piano intro to first track Leave Me Alone has me wondering if I’ve slipped in a Penguin Café Orchestra disk by mistake. Then a stabbing Clash-like riff kicks in and Borrell’s espousing ‘when did you decide, to start living like a suicide, wasting all my time, and messin’ up my mind’. With a clumsy, tub-thumping chorus it doesn’t make for the best album opener, but the band are instantly redeemed with Rock n Roll Lies, the sort of spiky, jerky, clap-along punkoid gem Razorlight excel at. In what is rapidly evolving into a ‘singles collection’, all their 45s are gathered here like beloved children; from the masterful punk funk clarion call to shake your booty Rip It Up, to Golden Touch, strutting like a pearly king on his way to the rub-a-dub, to new mellower single Vice, opening like U2, but still edgily raucous and anthemic with more than a dash of Libertines’ fruity sauce spicing things up.
Borrell’s undoubted lyrical gift sometimes verges on the too clever-clever (‘she’s been reading Bukowski for days’ – In The City) grates like fingernails on a blackboard,
but he remains an articulate chronicler of our times, a Pepys for lanky, bleary-eyed, clubbing, pubbing wastrels everywhere. Björn Agrens guitar expertly slashes, chimes, thunders and scintillates its way around Borrell’s beat poetry, allied to the considerable drum skills of departed Christian Smith-Pancorvo, and underpinned by Carl Dalemo’s punching basslines. The heartfelt plea to Pete Doherty Don’t Go Back To Dalston (‘don’t go up the junction, don’t go round the houses, just come back to me’) ends in a frenetic maelstrom, while Get It And Go (suicide again - ‘if this is living how come I never feel alive?’) careens between skanking verses and Strokes-ian frenzied riffing choruses. Purveyors of anglicised pop they may be, but Razorlight also stand indebted to those from across the Pond; Borrell is obviously a Television addict, and I don’t mean he watches EastEnders.
Not to diminish the effervescent guitar pop of the rest of the album, but two songs tower head and shoulders over the rest like Hagrid over a hobbit. The epic To The Sea bounces along with gorgeous harmonies, building to an orgiastic climax of thrashing guitars and pummelling drums, Borrell screaming ‘in the sea’ over and over until a post-orgasmic come down and a piano outro that’s the musical equivalent of having a restful ciggie after a great shag. But pride of place goes to the title track, a magnificent Strokes-y tale of wiling away the small hours, bristling with grace and power.
Last year Borrell told a small crowd at Fopp Records that Fall, Fall, Fall might never be released, and that may be our only chance to hear it. Rock ‘n’ roll lies indeed, for here it is, Borrell showing his vulnerable side in a muted coda to one of the best debuts we’re likely to hear all year. The name Razorlight suggests sharpness, brightness, clarity, acuity, and what more appropriate appellation could there be? One to feature high in the end of year polls.
The equation facing Razorlight as they release this, their debut long-player, is the same which tends to cripple many bands at the first hurdle. Take a bunch of decent singles, add an unhealthy dollop of hype, multiply by some obligatory rock 'n' roll mischief, subtract and replace a drummer and what are you left with? The unwelcome weight of anticipation on inexperienced shoulders. Fortunately, Razorlight have taken their time recording this album, and it shows. Up All Night is a record that shines from start to finish.
Maybe it's just me, but there's something in singer Johnny Borrell's voice that continually reminds me of Jarvis Cocker. As he belts out lyrics with the undiluted charisma and cocksure swagger of a seasoned pro, there's always a hint of the Cocker-esque introvert that lies beneath the surface (see ''Fall, Fall, Fall''). Yet while Borrell is every bit as enigmatic as the Pulp frontman, he's four times as exciting.
Perhaps it's the company he keeps. Borrell is famously good mates with the Libertines, and their influence certainly shows on the album's more raucous tracks (''Get It'' and Go, and album-opener ''Leave Me Alone''). But where certain tracks on the Libertines' debut, Up The Bracket, are hindered by their rampant rock n roll incoherence, Up All Night benefits from a commendable professionalism and clarity of sound throughout. Above all else, Razorlight certainly know how to craft a killer three-chord single. On ''Rock 'N' Roll Lies'', ''Rip It Up'' and ''Stumble and Fall'', they stick to the punk-rock adage of keeping it simple as if their lives depended on it.
And yet Razorlight still sound remarkably original. Although prior releases saw comparisons with the likes of Television and The Strokes, the bulk of Up All Night certainly sees the band treading new ground. Guitarist Björn Agrens snappy, post-punk riffs and chiming new-wave chords work wonderfully over Carl Dalemo's catchy, lucid basslines, whilst Christian Smith-Pancorvo's audacious drum fills, rolls and funky stop-start beats (see ''Rip it Up'') will no doubt fill indie disco dancefloors for some time.
From an industry point of view, Up All Night's only shortcoming is that four of its songs have already appeared as singles (the most recent being ''Golden Touch''), meaning the album may suffer from an undeservedly short shelf-life. Having said that, ''Vice'' is a modern anthem in the making that simply must be unleashed into the charts. With a debut this good, Razorlight are a band that deserve to do very, very well.
By all rights, Razorlight should be the most important band in this current wave of hip underground stars in London; while The Others have the obsessive fanbase following them around the city's most obscure venues (gig on a tube train, anyone?), Art Brut have the credibility spanning fanzines to the style mags, and The Libertines... well, enough's been said already about The Libertines already.
Razorlight, however, have all of the above and, most importantly, the songs. The songs and singer Johnny Borrell’s bravado. He's the mouthiest front man since one Mr L. Gallagher of Manchester; he described 'Up All Night' as being "better than Dylan" before he'd even written the thing. Whether or not this will lead him head-first into tabloid hell, we’ve yet to discover, but it’s a fact that Borrell has, so to speak, the gift of the gab. The fact that Razorlight’s latest single, the funky 'Golden Touch', recently gatecrashed the top 10 proves that they can at times live up to their own hype, but does their debut album 'Up All Night' keep Borrell’s promise?
From the start, it doesn’t look that way; opener 'Leave Me Alone' is a fast-but-dull garage rawk track with little to its credit, lyrically coming across like a trademark Borrell hissyfit. “Oh, I wish you’d just leave me alone – I’m so tired, I want to be on my own” he wails in the chorus, and for the four minutes the track lasts, you're inclined to do as he says. Thankfully, the second track is streets ahead. A glossy reworking of their debut single, 'Rock N Roll Lies' is one of the album highlights – a short punchy blast of punk that shows you exactly where Razorlight fare best. Conversely, another re-recording of a previous single, the infectious 'Rip It Up', gets stripped down, with Johnny’s vocals sounding as if they’d been shredded by sandpaper, and Bjorn Agren’s guitars getting strung with barbed wire in the best Television impersonation since a certain floppy haired New York quintet.
After the giddy highs of the singles, the quality understandably dips, but it's barely noticeable. The pop-as-they-come 'Vice' manages to weld a sugar-sweet melody to lyrics that manage to cram in love, hate, death and Johnny Borrell's phone number (you want it? Buy the album!), and the rip-roaring ode to one Mr Doherty, '(Don’t Go Back To) Dalston' sounds like it was written on speed. And probably was. Meanwhile, songs like the moody title track or the flimsily veiled drug-paean 'Get Up And Go' (“You get a little high, you get a little low”) are weaker than the faster tracks, but still pack a punch that most fail to match.
It’s not until the final tracks that Razorlight really show what they’re made of. The album's best moment is possibly it's most pretentious; 'In The City' is Borrell's take on beat-poetry, and he manages it without sounding like a clumsy sixth-former. Describing the seedier side of London in detail, he tears at those “livin’ off the guestlist... head back, hand out”, with enough time to tell us that "it looks like trouble, but it tastes like chocolate if you want it". Thanks, John. Meanwhile, recalling Patti Smith in her prime for the track's fiery finalé, the rest band cause merry mayhem, and it's left to 'Fall, Fall, Fall', the token heartfelt ballad, to pick up the pieces and bring the album to a close.
In 50 minutes, Razorlight have single-handedly told us what's great about the UK's new music. With an album that's fresh and vibrant but maybe a bit too derivative at times (who isn‘t?), Mr Borrell and his merry men have definitely struck gold. Better than Dylan? Not quite. The best British debut since Oasis? Definitely... maybe. But one of the albums of the year? Without doubt.
'Ok, so if you’ve read all the hyperbole we’ve read coming from Johnny Borrell’s sizable mouth you’d be salivating in expectation at the imminent delivery of a wide-ranging and classic LP that’s destined to be album of the year.......Zzzzz. Ok, so it’s no real shocker that Up All Night isn’t what we’d been told it’d be but that doesn’t stop it from being a damn fine debut LP all the same. It’s a crying shame that Razorlight have suffered from the same problem as Borrell’s former band The Libertines - far too much talk and column inches taken up by nonsense and snowballing hype and not enough talk about the whole reason we made a fuss in the first place, yes, that’s right, the music.
Whatever anyone tells you, and take our word it, Razorlight have stuck their fingers up at any detractors and delivered an album of urgent and tightly constructed indie-rock with one foot in the past of new-wave but another firmly leading the way forward, as this isn’t a mere fashion statement, a flash in the pan, or bunch of manufactured hot air. The tight rhythms that drive along the clean and snappy guitars gets bolstered by Björn Ågren’s restrained lead playing to lift the music of Up All Night way above most other garage or new-wave inspired bands playing right now, what really sets them apart from the pack though is the songwriting ability of Mr. Jonny Borrell himself. Say what you want about that man but he’s got a talent for pure tunesmithery that’s lacking in 99% of the bands operating right now. Need Examples? Take the deft sense of melody displayed on “Golden Touch”, slowly building the tune around the chords from the Cure’s “10:15 On A Saturday Night” before transforming into huge anthem. Also take the stunning title track – probably the best thing here that hasn’t already been a single - that captures perfectly the confusion and romance of that been-up-all-night 5am feeling and is probably the only song you’ll ever hear that makes sunrise over Shoreditch sound like something worth savouring. "This town is full of counterfeit dreamers and maybe I’m one to…I’ll meet you in the morning when I’ve broken up the band" croons Borrell before things heat up and the song ends in a passionate charge of guitars backed by his deep and gravelly scream.
Elsewhere "Don’t Go Back To Dalston" - where they namedrop a dirty corner of East London - also hits the mark, taking a leaf out of Brett Anderson’s book and mentioning unglamourous shite-holes in your love songs to add a level of truthfulness making things all the more affecting. The Thrills take note, we care not for your tales of Big Sur. "To The Sea" meanwhile is pure Television, so much so that the first time we heard them play it live we though it was a cover, that doesn’t’ stop it from being a great song mind. Borrel’s vocals, halfway between Tom Verlaine and David Bryne, quivering behind the interweaving vibrato guitars and throbbing bass. Let’s also not forget their four excellent singles "Stumble and Fall", "Rip It Up", "Rock n Roll Lies" and of course "Golden Touch" that also grace Up All Night. Even if the rest of the LP was pants and they were a mere singles band then those four tunes alone would still make this LP worth your cash.
So, album of the year ? Probably not. Better than Up The Bracket? Well, that’s a close call, we’d stick our neck out and say no, but only by a hairs breadth. Sometimes things seem a bit too studied, too much hero worship creeps in from time to time and the consistency sometimes slips but if Razorlight keep growing then by the time they release their next album it might be time to believe every word their singer says. We’ll be waiting.
'Up All Night' might be Razorlight's debut album, but we've heard their like before: from Oasis's Gallagher brothers, whose wilful arrogance is echoed in frontman Johnny Borrell's proclamations of his own songwriting genius, or The Libertines, who share Razorlight's romantic vision of London as a city of boozy rock & roll dreams. And while those two touchstones are probably a pretty good encapsulation of the Razorlight sound--holler-along choruses, presented with a slightly greasy leather-jacket sense of urchin cool—there's certainly more to Razorlight than such a simple equation can spell. Sure, there's nothing especially original about Borrell's tales of hot clubs and pretty girls, but his delivery is passionate in all the right places: see the startling "In The City", which finds him bursting with enthusiasm, words spewing out of his mouth like a teenage Dylan. The title track is the album's highlight, a graceful number about walking the streets through 'til dawn. But the irrepressible "Rip It Up" proves Razorlight can spit out the odd party number, thieving the guitar sound direct from 70s punk pioneers Television's Marquee Moon and fleshing it out into a rabble-rousing indie-club stomper
Razorlight's Johnny Borrell emerged from the same East End squat scene as the Libertines, and it's a shame they didn't get a record out first, because the similarities are more than superficial.
To a soundtrack of catchy, fidgety punk, both bands chart a London underworld teeming with urchins and scallywags. But while the Libertines invent their own peculiar mythology, Borrell's is overfamiliar, whether he is name-dropping Bukowski with sixth-form self-consciousness or rhyming "rock'n'roll lies" with "rock'n'roll eyes".
If conviction were all that mattered, however, this would be a masterpiece. Borrell roars through the frenetic Rip It Up and climaxes the Patti Smith-inspired In the City with a thrilling, pop-eyed rant. When he advises "Don't go back to Dalston!", it is with such anguished force that you are left in no doubt that you should stay away from part of London.
Originality may not be Razorlight's strong point, but Borrell's raw charisma carries the day.
Another week, another album from a mouthy Londoner who thinks he's God. Like we need more of those. Razorlight singer Johnny Borrell has spent the last few months comparing himself to Dickens and Bob Dylan, and shamelessly hyping his debut album to the extent that if 'Up All Night' is anything short of spectacular, he will be laughed off the face of the Earth.
Yet incredibly, 'Up All Night' is almost as good as he thinks it is. If you're thinking that this is an album full of poppy indie tunes in the same vein as the singles 'Rip It up' and 'Stumble And Fall', you'll be surprised by the sheer depth of the album. Opener 'Leave Me Alone' is exactly as you'd expect; upbeat, shouty and full of guitars pretending to be sirens (apart from a misleading "Hey, this is the wrong CD" piano intro), but by track three, Johnny is playing the first of many aces. 'Vice' is our first glimpse of Razorlight's sensitive side, a love song which manages to be both heartbreaking and euphoric. Drumrolls propel the song into an incredible climax which ends with layer upon layer of vocals yelling "L-O-V-E". The defeated title track is not the headonistic anthem you'd expect, more tired question, while the grogeous 'Dalston' shows that Borrell has a way with a chord change that can make the listener melt. Johnny voice bears more than a passing ressemblence to Jarvis Cocker's, while drummer Christian Smith-Pancorvo seems to be on a mission to ressurrect the drumroll as the band stomp and cry their way through album. Closer 'Fall, Fall, Fall' shows a lack of self-belief as Johnny sings sweetly of a failing relationship, the simple plea of "Could I speak any plainer? I need you here" breaking the heart more with every listen.
As much as I wanted to hate this album, I couldn't help but fall in love with it. It turns out that a mouthy Londoner who thinks he's God is exactly what we need...
Johnny Borrell of Razorlight was in The Libertines for a matter of days only, and whereas Pete Doherty & Co seem intent on embracing the sex and the drugs whilst only occasionally dabbling in the rock and roll, Razorlight go the other way and unleash the finest British debut album of the last year. Forget posh art-rockers Franz Ferdinand or US catwalk richkids The Strokes; this is true, raw music from a lead singer/songwriter primarily concerned about the music.
The initial signs were impressive. Razorlight's recent single Golden Touch reached the top ten in the charts, whilst earlier singles Rip It Up and Stumble & Fall garnered immense praise with their stark, edgy Steve Lillywhite production. Lillywhite has since departed, with engineer/producer John Cornfield carrying the band through to genuine, and instant greatness. The thirteen songs and forty-five minutes available on debut album Up All Night is close to masterful. Rather than take the money shots by throwing in chart grabbing punkpop-riffs, Borrell demonstrates that his skills lie in the ability to refrain from powerful masterstrokes. There are just as many quiet, reflective moments as there are fiery vocals delivered with a burning passion. Yet there isn't a trace of noise on Up All Night, and nor is there a trace of frailty.
Here is an album in which the music is sent first class into your hearts and minds. Some of Borrell's rhythms play directly into the Television and Patti Smith-Horses camps, and Borrell's instinctive knack of being able to sound so fresh, and so alive with just a few strings could render you jealous almost immediately. Annoyingly, the weaker songs on the album have been chosen to open Up All Night. Leave Me Alone is standard indie-postpunk, whilst early single Rock And Roll Lies suggests that Borrell has improved notably since its release a year ago. Vice manages to pull off Borrell spelling out the word 'love' on numerous occasions without sounding corny, but it's the fourth song, the title track, in which the band are in full command and from then on they never let go. Up All Night is a brilliant, brooding number that perfectly balances crashing guitar vitriol with soulful vocals.
Which Way Is Out is another fine number, expertly setting up the most Strokes-like number Rip It Up, which could happily sit on Is This It and claimed to be by Casablancas himself if the vocals weren't so clean. Two great singles, Golden Touch and Stumble And Fall hint at the band's versatility. The former being a jingly, mostly acoustic performance whilst the latter carries a fantastic solo and an exhilerating build-up. Get It And Go is arguably trademark Razorlight - powerful, sparse chords with an edgy, explosive climax. Easily the greatest song on the album, you only hope it's considered as the next single.
Before you know it, the epic forty-five minutes of Up All Night have finished, and you are hitting the play button once again on your stereo to relive the whole experience. Make no mistake, Johnny Burrell has a right to be arrogant, has a right to steal the throne, and is already shaping up to be the new darling of indie rock and roll. Former Razorlight drummer Christian Smith-Pancorvo will look back in years to come and wonder why he gave up on a band destined for greatness.
Moan all you like about Razorlight - they're too young, too mouthy, too much like The Libertines - but I, along with many other people, will put up with quite a lot for the sake of a good riff. Like women who consistently forgive boyfriends who treat them like crap, for years I forgave the snottiness, the swagger, the bleating arrogance, (and later, the obtuse lyrics) from the Gallagher brothers, all because of a good riff.
Razorlight's debut has more hooks than a fishing rod factory, and the advantage they have over Oasis (in addition to not sounding anything like them) is that they haven't had their arses kissed enough to disappear completely up them yet. The truth in Johnny Borrell's blusterings about his songwriting genius isn't immediately apparent in his lyricism, but the cocks-out conviction of the delivery leaves little doubt that there's something special lurking under the surface of this clutch of songs about girls and partying.
Razorlight are cocky for sure, but they always manage to stay on the sophisticated side of snottiness. The louche strut of 'Leave Me Alone' belies the teenaged tone of its title, while "Vice" is a stylish jumble sale of Lou Reedisms punctuated with the endearing geekiness of Attractions-era Elvis Costello. There's plenty of grit factor, too, as Borrell abandons the cock-eyebrowed croon and tears his way through 'Which Way Is Out' with an almighty primal roar. The hyper tumbling-down-a-flight-of-stairs drumbeat on the appropriately named 'Stumble And Fall' and the sparse Television-inspired album highlight 'Rip It Up' alone are reason enough to believe in this band. Truly, this is the second album The Strokes should have made.
Who knows, maybe I'll be bitching about Razorlight in couple of albums' time the same way I bitch about Oasis, but I'm more bothered about what in my CD player today. Not many bands can manage even one classic, and although it's still early days for Razorlight, they've got off to a hell of a start with a damn fine debut.
If If I were Razorlight I'd get thoroughly hacked off with being compared to The Libertines all the time. Yes, frontman Johnny Borrell went to school with Libertines bassist John Hassall and sometimes played with the band on the gig circuit, but he never joined them fully as he wanted to do "his own thing".
Unfortunately for Razorlight, they do sound similar to The Libertines - infectious British garage-rock with punky riffs and riotous singing. However, despite the unwelcome comparisons, the Scando-Brit quartet have suddenly become the rockers du jour and their hotly anticipated debut album has been hyped to the max.
Believe the hype. Beneath all the tousle-haired, skinny-hipped posturing is a stellar band who are set for global domination à la Darkness.
Incendiary track Leave Me Alone starts off with a sweet piano tinkle but the song soon turns gritty with an arrogant high one-note guitar riff and the masterful lyric: "When did you decide to live like a suicide." It is a cracking opening to a debut album that spits out superb tracks for the next 45 minutes with not one item of "filler" among them.
Johnny's phlegmy vocals are free to swagger pretty much anywhere throughout, sometimes talking, singing, frequently screeching. His voice effortlessly drips attitude on an album that segues into various musical styles within the garage rock genre.
Single Rock 'N' Roll Lies has the air of The Strokes' adrenalin-pumped underground world coupled with beat poet lyrics such as: "There’s something about the way she walks, she suits the city streets so well," while title track Up All Night is a long rambling tome and Vice is a raucous rabble-rousing tune.
Which Way Is Out starts with Johnny's Dylan-esque chatter with tight short guitar chords building up to the rapidly sung chorus: "Rack 'em up, knock 'em back, line 'em up, put 'em down."
Spiky single Rip It Up is a blatant rip-off of Television but Dalston exemplifies the personal touches to the album with cryptic lines such as, "Don’t go back to Dalston, don’t go up the junction, don’t go round the houses," as though we're privy to a young man's secret thoughts.
Then follows current catchy single Golden Touch that gives Razorlight the credibility of finding their own, breezier, sound. Another single, Stumble And Fall, follows close behind featuring tumbling drums and sharp melodies, before the frenzied, chorus-hollering stomp of Get It And Go.
There are more strikingly observational lyrics in the Patti Smith-inspired In The City: "She’s been reading Bukowski for days, leans over 'n' spits the name in my face." Starting off with just a light single strum for the first one-and-a-half minutes, it breaks into a dirty Velvet Underground-style tune and finishes with a spirited drum solo.
The epic To the Sea is played in a quick marching tempo and comes to a head at the end with all manner of instruments thrashing and clashing while Johnny's seering vocal rasps continuously. The 13th and final track Fall, Fall, Fall is a haunting come-down of a song with lonely guitar and Johnny's vulnerable voice singing: "Midnight is calling, are you close behind."
And thus ends a louche album that may not serve up anything revolutionary, but is one of the best debut albums I've heard in a long time. Being hailed as one of the most exciting bands of the year is a huge reputation to live up to, but Razorlight have the confidence, and the talent, to carry it off.
If 2004 is shaping up as a pop mirror to 1995, which increasingly it seems it is, then we’re still missing the top line equivalents of your Blurs, your Pulps and your Oasis’s. We’re pretty much sorted up to Supergrass/Elastica (Franz Ferdinand/The Libertines), and the lower sandpit filled with the likes of S*M*A*S*H, These Animal Man and 60ft Dolls back then is reaching capacity these days with the likes of The Ordinary Boys, Delays and now Razorlight. Hell, we’ve even got an unseeded replacement for the spiritual leadership of Paul Weller in Graham Coxon’s latest heroisms.
But back to Razorlight, a band who paint themselves at the front of whatever picture we’re painting thanks to lead ‘light Johnny Borrell pissing off with the paint tin and insisting he’s the only one gifted enough to use it. He’s not, but he makes a damn fine case for it with this, the band’s exceptionally fiery debut album. And he ain’t giving it back either way. It’s packed with rough scattergun melodies, skin-tight new-wave juddering and tattered vocals that sound well lived in, all handled with ruthlessly firm hands. Rich lyrics bundle past at breakneck pace, calling out to be scribbled down and learnt inside out. As much as our instinctive reaction to shameless self-promotion is to presume the opposite, the kid has actually lived up to all sorts with the 13 thrilling tracks on ‘Up All Night’.
You’ll already be aware of ‘Rip It Up’, ‘Stumble & Fall’ and the amazing 60ft-Dolls-eating-spinach-twatting-The-Jam-and-drinking-the-elexir on ‘Rock ‘N’ Roll Lies’, all of which make you want to do the kind of shaky-armed dancing they’d probably have printed instructive diagrams for in Smash Hits back in the swingin’ 60s, were it in print back then. But there are 10 other equals, or near as. ‘Vice’ and the title track have impassioned, building Costello-esque spirits, ‘Get It And Go’ spits syllables furiously and drives choppy guitars to their capacity, and ‘Fall Fall Fall’ closes the album with a melancholic maturity that you hope can be explored in the future. Here’s a band looking for promotion then, who knows if they’ll get it, but it’ll be a lot of fun watching them try.
These guys are hip. Very hip. If The Libertines are set to burn out at any moment and The Strokes and The Vines are so, like, yesterday, then pin-up front man Johnny Borrell's rock'n'roll renaissance outfit Razorlight are 2004's elegantly wasted 'it' boys.
Their debut album arrives like the coolest person at the party - late, effortlessly charismatic and clutching a bagful of great tunes.
Opening with a glorious piece of wrong-footing, the tinkling piano on Leave Me Alone, the album quickly cranks up the amps and hits Richter-troubling volume. Breaking with a drum roll into the album version of the mighty Rock N Roll Lies - more angular than the single version, complete with handclaps and even the odd harmony - the album aims to do one thing and one thing only: to renew your faith in the simple sinful promise of rock and roll.
Razorlight are all about the fantastic rhythm section. One of the many stand-out tracks, To The Sea, while propelled along by a nifty little riff, is held together by a drum beat reminiscent of Hendrix's Gypsy Eyes, backed up by an irresistible bass throb.
They also have a habit of throwing themselves headlong into a last minute wig-out, as on Up All Night, Dalston and Get It And Go, all of which end with a ferocious assault of guitar and drums, used to bombastic effect.
Yet it's the flawless singles that glue this album together - Rip It Up, Stumble & Fall and the stunning Rock N Roll Lies.
New single Golden Touch is slower to reveal its charms, but its success as a summer anthem is assured.
Like their musical cousins The Libertines, Razorlight clearly grew up with The Clash posters all over their beer-stained walls.
The bass drum thumps are I Fought The Law, the guitar lines pure Police & Thieves. Add a touch of Television and The Stranglers, and you've got a glorious punk pop paste.
In managing to capture their raw, empassioned live sound, Razorlight have produced an album that sounds utterly spontaneous. Variation? Who needs variation?
We want two and a half minute songs that make you want to shower yourself in cheap booze and have inadvisable sex in gig venue toilets.
Razorlight will have kids forming bands. They are that exciting. They are the last gang in town.
The rise and rise and rise and rise in popularity of Razorlight, frankly, has been utterly extraordinary. It seems, in just a few precious weeks, that they have been elevated way above their hard-working class roots into relative superstars, given the huge exposure that their latest Golden Touch single has been blessed with (whether it be on TOTP or at Glastonbury).
Then, incredibly, they were given the opportunity to perform such a single as part of the Olympic Torch Relay gig down The Mall in front of thousands of people. Literally, thousands and thousands of people.
Yet, just a little while ago, hardly anybody had heard of Razorlight. Indeed, their rise to prominence in the rock world could - to extents - be likened to the way in which The Darkness suddenly took hold of everybody's attention. While Razorlight's music is certainly of the rock variety, it isn't in The Darkness cock-rock vein.
The Light frontman in floppy-haired Johnny Borrell is a far more reserved singer and gruffly soulful in his ways, with this album being opened by a truly beautiful piano melody before a wicked guitar riff politely barges its way into Leave Me Alone.
Every last one of these thirteen tracks is endearingly anthemic and any one could be released as a single. It's one of those classic debut albums that the quartet should be able to live off for a very long time, with Rock 'n' Roll Lies being one of the finest cuts, graced with some coolly harmonious backing vocals as Johnny croons, You're all tied up in your backstage lines.
Past singles Rip It Up and Stumble And Fall sound splendidly proud, while To The Sea stands-out as being the first song produced by Johnny. In no way do Razorlight have punk or metal leanings. Their rock isn't particularly loud or hard. It is, on the upside, supremely poppy in a retro-rock kind of way, and exciting in the way that the band Mower's music is.
Up All Night is an astonishingly mature album and, come the end of 2004, will inevitably be voted at the top of many people's favourite albums of the year lists. And there really is little wonder why. (5/5)
Proclaiming yourself to be a better songwriter than Bob Dylan in countless interviews before anyone's heard any of your songs is either a stroke of colossal self belief, the sign of a huge ego, madness, attention seeking or maybe just a touch of all of the above. Johnny Borrell knows how to give a good interview, talking up his talents over the past year in every single magazine feature going - but now its time to put his money where his mouth is, with this the debut album from his band Razorlight.
This is very much Johnny's band, its all his songs, his vision, all the way from the scratchy guitar riffs to yelping vocals to slightly pretentious lyrics.
The weedy piano intro to LEAVE ME ALONE doesn't bode well, and by the time the song kicks in properly with its spiky guitar riffs and barked out vocals there's only one thought to be had - The Strokes. The vocals are a dead ringer for Julian Casblancas drawled New York cool, the guitars have that same spiky post-punk edge, the rushed drumming, the driving basslines - there's a definite sense of deja vu at work here. ROCK N ROLL LIES, suffers from the same feeling but at least is a great little pop song, exciting and full of headlong energy that gives the sense that this is a band capable of more.
VICE, with its killer chorus and anticipatory build up is another hint at bigger and better things. When letting rip with a great melodic lyrical vocal, Johnny Borrell really shows what a frontman he's capable of being.
Lacking the passion and unbridled pent up energy of their live performances, the songs here suffer. With the production somewhere between the stark unfussy approach of The Strokes and a glossier radio friendly sheen, the sound comes across as a bit indistinct and unremarkable at times working against the simple celebratory nature of some of the stronger songs on offer here.
UP ALL NIGHT is another strong song with big singalong choruses and straightahead post-punk energy, all sinewy insistent vocals and driving bass and drums while RIP IT UP, is the kind of three minute sweaty indie-pop that's guaranteed to have moshpits and indie nightclubs pogo-ing for years to come.
The bona-fide chart hit GOLDEN TOUCH is the first real sign that this is a band that's got more to them than first impressions might suggest. A song that seems to grow stronger with each listen and one of the few songs here to suggest much bigger and brighter things, Johnny Borrells voice for the first time escaping the shadow of The Strokes and sounding much more natural and relaxed.
The new wave guitar stabs of STUMBLE AND FALL herald another slice of spiky indie-pop energy while the New Order meets Libertines clash of GET IT AND GO comes across as little more than adequate album filler.
The pretentious lyricism of IN THE CITY with its Bukowski references and Johnny Borrells references to himself in the third person are at least entertaining. Managing to make a three minute slice of indie-pop sound like an epic Doors like jam also shows a rare talent, even if the song itself comes on at times like a note perfect version of Thems Gloria mixed with Patti Smiths Horses.
TO THE SEA has got the makings of another high profile single. With fantastic melodic vocals, catchy guitar riffs and stabs of spiky post-punk cool topped with a skyscraper reaching chorus that builds and builds to a climax of impeccable Iggy Pop style vocal gymnastics.
More a pretty good debut album than great then, but one that when it hits its highs like on TO THE SEA, GOLDEN TOUCH, RIP IT UP and ROCK N ROLL LIES very nearly lives up to the hype. There's no mistaking the similarities to The Strokes at times, with a few too many songs here coming across as mere imitations rather than anything fresh. But with the handful of great songs here, the undeniable brilliance of their live performances and the charisma and presence of frontman Johnny Borrell this is a band that's destined to get better and better, facing a very bright future.
FOLLOWING the happy-go-lucky success of singles such as Stumble & Fall and Golden Touch, Razorlight have placed themselves in that bracket of Britain's 'bright young things', alongside the likes of The Libertines and their ilk.
The debut album seems to suggest that the tag is warranted, for in many peoples' opinions, these guys might just succeed, where some of their more illustrious hot-tips have, well, stumbled and even fell!
Up All Night is a terrific debut, driven by Johnny Borrell's cheeky vocals, which intriguingly provoke comparisons with the likes of The Libertines' Pete Docherty, while also demonstrating the ability to take on early Dylan, Pulp's Jarvis Cocker, and that cheery cockney style of, say, Graham Coxon.
The Cocker experience is best exemplified during the opening moments of Vice, while the Coxon-style is best encapsulated by title track, Up All Night.
The themes are fairly familiar, taking a romantic vision of London as a city of boozy rock and roll dreams, and drawing on the tragedy, addictions, debauchery and jealousies that exist within.
But they are done with such a vigour and passion that it doesn't seem to matter that their style isn't exactly original.
There is an innocent charm to songs such as Which Way Is Out and party anthem, Rip It Up, that becomes completely infectious.
Rip It Up, especially, has one eye on the dancefloor, much like the equally riotous Rock 'n Roll Lies, but such ragged moments are neatly counter-balanced by more deliberate tracks, such as Hang By, Hang By, or the anthemic In The City.
Even the singles, Golden Touch and especially Stumble and Fall maintain a freshness about them, that hasn't allowed them to fade with time,
Stumble and Fall, in particular, is a belter of a record, a joyous, edgy, indie-pop anthem, which highlights all that is great about Razorlight.
So if Borrell and co have already seduced you with such tracks, then waste no time in getting the album.
It's being hailed as a debut to rival the impact of Oasis' Definitely Maybe, but while it may fall short of that status, there is enough here to suggest that The Libertines should be looking over their shoulder as they complete their second album.