Bloc Party’A Weekend in the City’80 DecibelsSounds like: Interpol, Editors

Bloc Party’s Kele Okeneke sets the tone for his latest release with what should double as his band’s mission statement: ‘I am trying to be heroic, in an age of modernity.’

Bloc Party stands apart from the rut of New Romantic and Goth throwbacks that arrived on the musical scene in recent years, meshing Gang of Four’s gaunt guitar attack and politics with the sincerity and poignancy of U2. Lead singer Okeneke shines in his simplicity, in his ability to make a simple phrase touching and to give an uncomplicated line depth. He is honest when his peers, The Killers, Artic Monkeys, Franz Ferdinand, are coy, direct when they are cheeky.

Bloc Party’s debut, ‘Silent Alarm,’ may have traversed the social, economic and political issues of life in London, but was most successful when delving into the personal. Cuts like ‘So Here We Are,’ ‘This Modern Love’ and ‘Blue Light’ were breathtaking; Okeneke’s voice rising above the throbbing soundscapes, an angry young man searching for meaning and comfort.

The band’s latest release, ‘A Weekend in The City,’ a concept album depicting life after terrorist attacks in London in 2005, is a well-crafted follow-up. The band moves away somewhat from the frantic pace of earlier songs such as ‘Like Eating Glass,’ focusing instead on longer pieces and more multifaceted instrumental work. Most of the tracks clock in at more than four and a half minutes, yet even the most meandering of these, ‘Sunday,’ and ‘Kreuzberg,’ have hidden moments of brilliance: a soaring bridge here, a lyrical guitar solo there.

Drummer Matt Tong remains a vital weapon; his playing anchors the guitar and synthesizer maelstrom of ‘Waiting for the 7.18,’ and provides a base for the funky rush of ‘Hunting for Witches.’ Tong is a disciplined, dexterous drummer, a stabilizing force through which all of the band’s music is funneled.

‘I Still Remember’ is a light, keyboard-laden jaunt, while ‘The Prayer,’ with a thunderclap opening beat and humming background chorus that sniffs of TV on the Radio, is a marriage of the art punk of the late ’70s and the anthemic arena rock of the early ’80s.

Throughout, Okeneke is a guiding light, a romantic in troubled times. ‘I can charm the moon,’ he howls in ‘On.’ It’s a silly, blustery sentiment that could easily be discounted. But Okeneke emotes it in a way that feels meaningful and morphs the phrase into a rallying cry.

He is an inspired leader of an inspired band, one which continues to impress on its sophomore album.

Published on February 5, 2007 at 12:00 pm