Review Summary: Shall we liquefy, oh you and I, and peer in the ocean's dream?
Maybe it's some kind of statement that The Servant never once released on an American label, never toured the US, and never promoted themselves outside of Europe. After all, three-fourths of the band emerged from the remnants of Leigh Bowery's avant-garde performance art/rock collective Minty, where statements—regardless of their meaning or significance—reigned supreme. Or maybe it was due to a desire to shore up the home front that their "big break" into the States came from the inclusion of an instrumental version of "Cells" (rather than the brilliant vocal version) in the trailer for
Sin City and the album versions of "Cells" and "Body" in the French film (yes, check the production credits)
Transporter 2. Or maybe they just didn't like America.
Regardless of their motives, The Servant in early 2004 were relatively unknown to the public. Only a couple of EPs—good ones, but weird—comprised their resume, and maybe a few live shows here and there. Then they dropped this self-titled album and within a year they were main stage, at least on their side of the pond.
The Servant is vintage 2000s indie rock. Its lyrics are quirky, its subject matter artsy, its melodies infectious, and its instrumentation simple but effective, and every step of the way you feel that this album is somehow different from what you're used to. "Cells" starts off with a simple beat and an acoustic guitar playing an ominous progression, then you get the low striking electronic WHUMP! WHUMP! that really makes the song. Synthesized strings in the background are joined by a highly distorted guitar that breaks into a subdued but memorable riff during the chorus. Never before have I heard a song about the monotony and anomie of the daily grind and the frustration of swimming against the current this poignant; hear the anxiety in lines such as "Now you go to bed, I'm staying here / I've got another level that I want to clear" and tell me you can't relate to his frustration at doing nothing and going nowhere.
Much of the material here is also gold. "Beautiful Thing" is a complex song that reads as poetry, with imagery of sitting on a high rise roof with a special someone watching aeroplanes and drinking blackcurrant juice while nervously hoping, wanting,
praying that sparks will fly and it will lead to something more than friendship. Dan Black expertly conveys this nervous tension with neurotic thoughts like "Oh god I feel your arm up on mine" and "Oh that means you may..." and "How can I get you to let me kiss you?". Layered on top of a fat but simple bass, this song sticks with you. "Liquefy" is sweet and endearing, with lyrics about admiration for a loved one and a desire to become one in body, mind, and soul ("Shall we liquefy / Oh, you and I / And vanish into the sea?"). It's likewise a memorable tune and my favorite on the album.
What's most striking about this album is that every song teems with real emotion. From the depressed angst of "Body" to the introspective optimism of "Not Scared, Terrified", the self-affirming earnestness of "Orchestra" to the sardonic wit of "Jesus Says", the suppressed rage of "Devil" to the revealed desperation of "Glowing Logos", songwriter Dan Black gives us a sense of the trials and tribulations of daily life as experienced by your average joe. He's not some high and mighty rock star pretending to care; this is some genuinely deep stuff.
Almost every song has something that enhances its meaning and the listening experience, be it a middle eight that serves as a contrasting interlude or a single offhand thought. "Glowing Logos", for example, is befuddled with mixed metaphors and creative nonsense ("The vacuum-sealed acrobat vampire / A broken credit card he rides") with a chorus about loneliness and seeking out "someone like me", but what drives the message home are a few lines sung just before the third verse: "I could touch you underneath your mind / I could touch you where your boyfriend cannot find / And you'd be mine / Oh you'd be mine". In "Liquefy", which verges on saccharine, an interlude shifts the beat and drops the key as Black ponders "Will I always love you? / I just don't know. / I'll give it a go", which reinforces the song's now-ness, its appreciation of those fleeting eureka moments when everything seems to make sense.
The Servant is one of the best albums of the 2000s, and to see it relegated to obscurity is a crime against good taste. It's regrettable that this band isn't better known; had they just pushed for US distribution, their self-titled LP would undoubtedly be better regarded and critically recognized. But alas! Those of us in the know can enjoy this masterpiece at our leisure.
