Review Summary: It's something about smiling through the mess.
There’s a science behind “hearing” a smile–legitimately, although what exactly that entails varies from test to test–but no thorough analysis is needed to picture Alexei Berrow sporting the goofiest head-over-heels grin throughout the gushy romantic language of “What the Alexei.” No deeper meanings here; the third tune on Johnny Foreigner’s first album in nearly 10 years is about happily falling in love, letting strangers on the street know about it, and parading those feelings about like a permanent cloud-nine-type high. Seasoned fans might expect the usual tragic mess to ensue–the U.K. gang have always centered their lyrics on relationships that the audience meets at the onset of a spiraling breakup, character pieces concluding in the kind of alcohol-fueled arguments that wreck friendships, distant observations of ‘will-they-won’t-they’ couples that forever never will–but
How to Be Hopeful avoids succumbing to the painful endings without sacrificing the passion that inspired those stories. Yes, Johnny Foreigner still have anxieties over the future and the general nonsense of modern life, but on their latest record, they’ve committed their relentless energy to discovering and ultimately embracing a sense of optimism.
In that regard, “What the Alexei” acts as a mission statement, and that audible smile at its roots symbolizes the gang’s shift in their emotional disposition. Berrow’s lovesick nature is almost nauseating in its cheese-laden, spoken-word-poetry glory, but his sincerity is unmistakable; he places a listener in the midst of a chance meeting and has them buy in unequivocally, making them lost in the wonderment of someone that appears so special that they border on mythical. A line like, “I'm science, I don't think a single universe could contain us / I’ve been collecting data and every time you smile stars grow brighter / Your gravity, a super collider” should never survive a cutting room floor, but when carried in such an earnest manner and buoyed by Johnny Foreigner’s bright sonic palette–shimmering power pop-adjacent melodies, endlessly upbeat indie punk energy, playful gang vocals and Los Campesinos!-esque dramatics–it becomes infectious and desperately
real, much the same way that a better tomorrow can be announced by two eyes meeting in that certain kind of way.
That enticing happiness doesn’t come easy; a resounding shout of “It gets worse!” kicks off the raucous punk-tinged opener “Roisin Does Advice Now,” with wailing guitars rubbing elbows alongside a twinkling emo-revival-type refrain, and there’s a heaping of corporate-imposed bullsh*t to stubbornly trudge through–the bitterness of “A Sea to Scream At,” the unrelenting barrage of misery politics detailed in “This Is a Joke”--that Johnny Foreigner and their revolving door of characters still have difficulty managing. That inability to cope swallows up “Dark Tetris” as Berrow observes another tragic mess in motion, belting out, “So Lauren's back on drugs / And I don't know if I should laugh or if that dope's still dangerous / But I miss every birthday / Can barely remember my own age these days,” and a lingering sense of yearning permeates the gradual exit of “Okay 1 More!,” with a cloud-covered ambiance ushered away like a fading memory.
How to Be Hopeful purposefully stages itself at this status-quo rock bottom and doesn’t shy away from the toll passing years of placed upon the group, be it the irreversible damage brought about by the cold actions of industry–the scratchy guitars, impassive, pounding march of percussion and chorus of shouts raging throughout in the aforementioned “A Sea to Scream At”--or the call-to-arms of “Orc Damage” that sounds like a clamoring for a Pyrrhic victory.
Only from that low point can
How to Be Hopeful start to make sense, because as much as Johnny Foreigner would like to hope, they–and by extension, the audience that’s sitting down at the depths trading break-up stories over too many one-more’s–don’t have the
how in their toolkit. Berrow admits as much when talking to a stranger in “Their Shining Path,” where his repeated line, “Never written a love song I didn't regret” is countered by, “He sits and blows his solemn smoke rings / Shakes his head and says: "So you haven't really written a love song yet.” It’s not until “Emily and Alex” does the album’s overarching theme of struggling to survive the apathetic doldrums come full circle, succinctly summarized by, “So let us call amnesty on every sunken memory / A million ripples make a wave tonight / I would say all those awkward anxious choices / Did us right.” There’s an unambiguous acceptance of a new normal that isn’t in the typical manner of a Johnny Foreigner dust-yourself-off number–think “You vs. Everything,” where perseverance is equated to taking on, well,
everything--and it makes the wide grin of “What the Alexei” something worth believing in beyond a call to pick oneself up. The entire album becomes recontextualized in response; traditional JF-isms are maintained, but the group’s grand sense of scale and ability to explode a track into a frantic, colorful display now embodies a radiant optimism, with gentle climaxes and runaway guitar assaults dripping with a sugary-sweet sense of catharsis.
Reaching that juncture is as much a credit to Johnny Foreigner’s straightforward, gloriously-messy lyrical methodology as it is to their expansive songwriting. Things are at once turbulent and shot out of a cannon, like the hectic burst of pop-punk flavor brought about in “The Blazing World,” before becoming more contemplative in the likes of the understated, soothing swell of “Museum of Useless Things,” allowing the record to transform on a whim to encapsulate the broader journey undertaken in Berrow’s heart-on-a-sleeve narratives. A handful of repeating chords can stand in for an unimpressed ocean, or a lost connection, or that one relationship that might actually go the distance, each approach performed with a level of confidence and vivacity that crafts a delicate balance between overindulgence and delightfully over-the-top. It’s an idyllic representation of Johnny Foreigner’s prior achievements and a wondrously powerful demonstration of their core strengths, although that overbearing familiarity can have varying mileage from listener to listener. Sticking to one’s guns seems entirely appropriate to shake off the metaphorical rust of a hiatus, yet it does hold the LP back behind the more experimental interior of earlier accomplishments a la
Johnny Foreigner vs. Everything.
It’s a setback easily forgiven when considering the way
How to Be Hopeful resonates as both a celebration and deconstruction of the Birmingham collective. The inevitable landing destination of that adventure comes in the reversal on closing rocker “We Build This City,” where the once-pessimistic exclamations of “Roisin…” morph into defiant cheers of “It gets better!” It’s given the same amount of unadulterated bombast and exuberance as any given Johnny Foreigner cut, but the sprinting instrumentation symbolizes a departure from motifs, not another round of drinks at a rock bottom. There’s an undeniable beauty in the way an emo-oriented band blossoms from their roots–a foundation that tends to be exhausting, what with the firmament constructed from painful recollections, regrets and intrusive thoughts. Johnny Foreigner have grown up with grace, remaining their usual rambunctious selves while channeling their vibrant creativity into the harrowing endeavor of clawing happiness from the nadirs of that ‘getting-older’ thing. When Berrow and co. send things off with a resounding bellow of, “A perfect soundtrack / All pretty sunsets,” it sounds about as unforgivably cheesy as the picture-perfect end to a rom-com romp, but when that omnipresent smile is heard poking through, it’s impossible not to feel as though there’s something desperately
real about it all.
