Frantic

by

Bryan Ferry

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FRANTIC is almost an appropriate name for Bryan Ferry's most recent effort. I say "almost" because 'frantic' implies anxiousness and nervousness -- and Bryan Ferry could never be labeled either (he's far too meticulous and patient in his artistic determination). What FRANTIC displays, however, is a creator demonstrating his mastery over a variety of different styles. And this mastery is delivered with an organic energy that Bryan hasn't utilized since THE BRIDE STRIPPED BARE. Texturally, Bryan comes full circle with FRANTIC. Over the years Bryan has explored a very layered and controlled sound. AVALON was the apotheosis of this approach with Roxy Music, and MAMOUNA was clearly the ultimate distillation of that cosmically ethereal sound in Bryan's solo career (and MAMOUNA can never be topped -- it's just exquisite musical art). Bryan's next effort, AS TIME GOES BY took a 180-degree turn. Here was Bryan, stripped down to just his voice and traditional non-synthetic accompaniments, exploring staples from America's past. If anyone questions his talents as a crooner or the power of his voice, I simply refer them to his version of "Where or When" (it makes Sinatra's take on it seem like insincere drivel). Now Bryan turns it up a notch. Using the same organic approach, he fashioned a rock album in FRANTIC that explores Dylan, pop, funk, trip-hop, ballads, blues, and folk music -- and Bryan's foray into each territory is inspired. His voice has become smokier, but that familiar quiver -- symbolizing his yearning for the perfect, ideal love -- has matured into a curtain of passion that wraps itself around the listener. For me, "Hiroshima . . ." and "I Thought" are classics that triumphantly usher Ferry into the new century. The former is a hypnotic masterpiece that should have been released as a single to the trip-hop/Massive Attack crowd (it would have made Virgin Records billions had they been thinking). The latter is a brilliant, beautifully lyrical rumination on lost love; it begins with a funky Morricone-esque keyboard delivered by Brian Eno and escalates into a swirling mass of forlorn beauty. Forget Sting. Forgot Bono. Forget Josh Groban. Forget Peter Gabriel. Forget Andrea Bocelli. Forget Celine Dion. Forget Cher. There is only Bryan Ferry.