Album Review: The 1975's "Notes on a Conditional Form"
Since its re-branding in 2013, The 1975 has dazzled disillusioned millennials and placated critics with anthems on angst and soothing synth ballads. Frontman Matt Healy is the king of anti-bedroom indie pop, replacing the genre’s characteristic adolescent nostalgia with odes to unsatisfactory sex and cocaine daydreams. The band’s first three studio albums are riddled with these tongue-and-cheek recollections of teenage life, the pitfalls of young stardom and the plight of Western “woke” youth.
The 1975’s newest album, however, differs from the group’s previous projects in its apparent lack of focus and its inability to be characterized. Though Healy throws his devoted fans a bone with upbeat dance tracks like “Me & You Together Song” and “If You’re Too Shy Let Me Know,” metallic protest anthems and bare piano compositions prevent it from being classified as an indie album. In fact, Notes On A Conditional Form is not really an album; rather, it is a musical junk drawer – an intentionally disorganized, frustrating and seemingly endless void. Dig beneath grimy percussion and layered vocals, however, and you’ll likely find melodious concoctions, poetic one-liners, and musings on our current human condition.
Notes On A Conditional Form opens with the band’s signature piano prelude, “The 1975,” only this time the voice of the young climate change activist Greta Thunberg is layered over the composition – an unexpected start to an album that, otherwise, seems like it has little concern for the climate. Yet, Thunberg’s call to “wake up” permeates the entirety of Notes, which at its core is a powerful, albeit jumbled, reflection on the microcosms we inhabit and our ability (or inability) to change them. “People,” a jarring in-your-face percussive track, begs the youth to act on the social, economic and ecological issues plaguing our generation while “Frail State of Mind,” presents a quieter introspection on feeling small when faced with those giant issues. Together, the two songs encompass the thematic purpose of Notes On A Conditional Form: to inspire activism while investigating why action often feels pointless or impossible.
To communicate this message, The 1975 draw from several musical references, including gospel anthems, 90s rock, reggae, and electronic dance festivals, meaning that Notes contains a little something for everyone. Fans who like their music served à la carte will find solace in the relaxing elevator music that undergirds Healy’s smart lyricism in “Nothing Revealed / Everything Denied” or “Don’t Worry.” More experimental listeners, however, will revel in the album’s use of juxtaposition. On “Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America,” for example, simple guitar strumming undergirds the sad confessions of LGBTQ+ Christians while the idiosyncratic techno beats of “Having No Head” are bookended by the quiet inklings of a piano.
Notes On A Conditional Form is a relevant distraction. It both is and is not about coronavirus; it’s simultaneously a wake-up call for a world in crisis and a nonchalant departure from that world. Musically speaking, it’s neither good nor bad, but to assign an arbitrary rating to the album is to undervalue it. Healy et. al dropped an artistic pearl in a sea of songs about social distancing and stir craziness. Notes On A Conditional Form provides one hour and twenty-two minutes of anything-but-easy listening, and I’m listening repeatedly.
