REVIEW: Tame Impala – ‘Currents’

‘Just let it happen, let it happen’, Kevin Parker croons on Currents’s first track, mystifyingly called ‘Let it Happen.’ A warm rush cradles you gently, luring you in with a plume of chocolate grooves, caressing vocals and licentious melodies. Without any hesitation, Tame Impala silkily infiltrated my capillaries, and it felt like I was floating inside a giant lava lamp. By the end of the listening experience, I had just about come back to earth in one piece.

Parker’s musical journey has been far more engaging than most of his contemporaries. From 2008’s ‘Tame Impala’ EP to Currents, he’s constantly challenged listeners’ expectations around what musical path he’ll glide down next. The crunching riffs of their early work, most notably 2010’s mauve and turquoise hybrid of squall and groove Innerspeaker, gave way to the synth laden, psychotropic odyssey that was 2012’s Lonerism, an album on which Parker delved into the aural crevices of texture, space and the sound of colour. On Currents, Parker has almost entirely forsaken guitars and shrouded himself in the cloak of the disco. The Tame Impala himself revealed that influences spanning the likes of Britney Spears, Michael Jackson and ABBA permeated the album, sending cries of ‘no!’ and ‘shame!’ across the indie spectrum. 2014’s sumptuous cover of Jacko’s ‘Stranger in Moscow’ proved prophetic, rather than Parker dabbling in extra-curricular activities. Indie kids duly clutched their Kooks shaped talismans for protection, fearing infection from irradiated sources. Though the inspirations might terrify those who view the guitar as the only sacrosanct source of music, Parker channels his inspirations through a psychedelic technicolour lens, before garnishing them with a glistening, shoegazing aesthetic that should comfort sectarian music fascists.

Notwithstanding accusations of shameless reinvention, Parker’s expert imitation of John Lennon’s voice is one aspect that hasn’t changed. Upon first hearing Tame Impala, one will no doubt think that the deceased Beatle sounds amazing for somebody who’s been dead for over thirty years. This is not, however, a reason to criticise Parker’s artistic trajectory from Tame Impala to Currents. The beauty of rock and roll is based on, as Noel Gallagher rightly said, retelling the story repeatedly for successive generations, so that dormant sounds can be repackaged for new listeners. Parker does just that, remoulding the bespectacled Beatle for a new audience. Talent borrows, genius steals.

Disciples of riff-rage carnage like ‘The Bold Arrow of Time’ and ‘Half Glass Full of Wine’ will have to embark on an extensive period of readjustment, because there are no songs on Currents that summon the apocalyptic maelstroms those tunes of yore do so emphatically. Irritatingly, a sizeable portion of the album, including opener ‘Let it Happen’, was revealed before the official release date, which dilutes the mystery of the album entirely. Nonetheless, what the album lacks in mystery, it more than makes up for in musical exploration. On song after song, instruments interlock seamlessly, creating debauched new soundscapes for the listener to bathe in. Previous opening tracks of sparkling ambition, namely Ride’s ‘Leave Them All Behind’ and Public Image Limited’s ‘Theme’, were coruscating statements of intent showing each bands’ artistic and lyrical prowess over lengthy musical workouts. Parker does the same, opting for a near eight minute behemoth brimming with anticipatory lyrics beautifully punctured with moments of fragility. Awash with organic synths and lithe rhythms, it encapsulates Parker’s ability to reconcile balmy, polished song structures and vituperative poetry. This is evident on ‘Love/Paranoia’ and ‘New Person, Same Old Mistakes’, on which the pornographic strut of Jackson-inspired disco-funk envelopes disillusioned observations about capricious individuals.

Introspective lyrics are a trait inherited from the majestic Lonerism, but what’s improved radically is the production which allows each instrument to fully breathe. At times on Lonerism, there was too much going on at once: stalwart songs like ‘Music to Walk Home by’ and ‘Mind Mischief’ were suffocated by different sounds clattering together, synths and guitars washing over each other awkwardly and disturbing the listening experience. Thankfully, Parker’s swiftly learnt from his errors, developing a new found confidence behind the mixing desk. ‘Reality in Motion’s’ carnal lope is decorated with the same flourishes as ‘Mind Mischief’, but they don’t overwhelm the song, instead coexisting intimately with Parker’s affable dejection. For all the disco references, indie hasn’t been left behind entirely. Parker’s astral melodies and vocals glide in a way that’s reminiscent of Slowdive or early Spiritualized. Ethereal whispers layer voluptuous grooves, propelling us to the middle of the dancefloor, rather than the margins. Despite the gloomy lyrics, there’s no denying that the sprightly ‘Disciples’ and the comically distorted spoken word track ‘Past Life’ show that Parker’s having fun playing the disco diva.

Currents is an intimate album that will mean something different to everyone. Some will undoubtedly be alienated by the dearth of guitars, and the absence of a pure pop moment like ‘Solitude is Bliss’, a song that, despite Current’s qualities, hasn’t been surpassed for unadulterated joy. The dramatic change between Lonerism and Currents is not entirely unexpected, but it resembles Arctic Monkeys’ significant leap from glow stick indie barrages on Favourite Worst Nightmare to desert rock on Humbug, a move that simultaneously attracted and repelled fans new and old. Currents is arguably Arctic Monkeys’ AM’s disco-obsessed cousin, lecherous rhythms and warm melancholy being central to both. The beauty of Tame Impala is that one knows what direction they’ll head in next. They embody the unpredictability of rock and roll, combining introspection with uplifting rhythms brilliantly, and will continue to enthral for years to come.