Review Summary: Arrive alive.
“[…] eight songs of nocturnal longing, preposterous self-obsession and cockeyed etiquette.”
~ Elias Rønnenfelt
This World Is Not Enough, the latest release from the Iceage frontman’s pet project, Marching Church, is a success by this (convenient) definition. Larry Fitzmaurice described
Plowing Into the Field of Love as a transition from “a dark basement [to] an ivory tower.”
This World sees Rønnenfelt retreat into decrepit alleyways, feeding off of his character’s egomania. He carries himself with a slovenly swagger, and many listeners will find his delivery overbearing. “King of Song” is an anthem of drunken conviction, and a self-assurance that might come with downing a few too many; however, his hedonistic barroom musings are oddly likeable. His shameless, off-key claims of greatness hold true because of his staunch attitude, and it’s easy to empathize. Elias’ compatriots do their best to bolster the singer, giving the songs depth with a jambly, improvised flavour akin to Jones-era Rolling Stones that gets overshadowed all too often in the album’s earlier half. “Hungry for Love” gets tiresome, despite their efforts, as Elias pines for his love interest, who is smartly keeping her distance. Lyrically, Marching Church are on the cusp of approachable emotion, but stuck behind a barrier of double-vision. It works better than you might think.
That’s the gist of
This World Is Not Enough; it’s an album that fails by its own design, but couldn’t succeed in any other form. Each song’s theme feels underdeveloped, which might encourage the listener to direct the narrative, similar to a Choose Your Own Adventure - pen and napkin edition®. The poignant “Your Father’s Eyes” is based on coping with a spouse’s prior abuse, and is the most cohesive story present, whereas tracks like “Up a Hill” and “Calling Out a Name” pose more questions than answers. Often, the instruments are to credit for the evocative nature of Marching Church’s brand of Nick Cave-esque post-punk. In “Calling Out a Name”, they drag Elias to his day of reckoning in shackles, kicking and screaming. “Every Child (Portrait of Wellman Braud)” features a ghoulish piano line, and musicianship in the vein of Gothic Americana a la 16 Horsepower. The album’s latter half sees the band hit their stride, as Rønnenfelt’s introspection doesn’t prevent the group from breathing as they take cues from his wallowing. They’re the ideal support system - neither indifferent, nor judgmental - serving as companions on Elias’ path of self-discovery, regardless of where it might lead, if nowhere at all.
Fortunately, it does lead somewhere. “Dark End of the Street” sees the anti-hero become self-aware, and, rather unfortunately, regretful of his actions. The result is the most touching performance of Rønnenfelt’s career thus far. There’s a sense of powerlessness, as if he’s realized his facade has worn thin, and is now slinking out of the tavern to face a harsh reality. An uplifting trumpet signals that all hope isn’t lost as Elias saunters down the street. It’s a fitting conclusion for an album full of half-truths and feigned importance, as a humbling end to a story that might not have meant anything in itself. In a way,
This World Is Not Enough acts as a compelling character study, branching off into different directions before arriving at a sombre conclusion. It’s messy, rarely intelligible, scattered with brief highs and extended lows, yet, somehow, resonates long afterwards. Rønnenfelt finds his way, not with flying colours, but aloof, cigarette ignited; it’s better that way. This one’s for him.
