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Vox October '97

Snaps! Crack-ups! Pop!

Post-Take That life for the ex-pop pin-ups has been all about attaining some form of credibility. It happened way before they finally petered to a soggy end. On the last post-robbie tour, fans witnessed the undignified sight of the four remaining members doing a "we are playing these instruments, honest!" version of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'. It sounded awful, but that wasn't the point. The intention was to tell the world that they weren't just souls as real as Kurt Cobain, suffering the same pressures and every bit as deserving of proper critical attention. All pop stars go through this - Kylie, Bros, Duran Duran - none of them realising that they are at their most interesting when they're at their most fake. Still, it's always funny.

Howard and Jason are yet to re-enter the pop fray, but Gary, Mark and Robbie have been continuing the battle to be taken seriously. Gary Barlow is attempting to be George Michael, but has ended up being Barry Manilow, and Mark Owen has gone indie and surrounded himself with a Mini Shed 7. Only Robbie seems to be making records worth listening to rather than an exercise in proving himself - joyously, he doesn't seem to be trying too hard and has retained an air of getting away with it, which for a pop star is as near to dignity as you can achieve.

Part of Robbie's charm is that he fucked up so magnificently and so publicly. After leaving Take That he took to the social whirl with gusto, inventing a new spin on ' avin' it large ' by actually turning large in the process. He's slimmed down and been to rehab since, but his ' year of shame ' gave him something to write about and pitched him into the far more interesting firmament of liggers and ne'er-do-wells. It's had a pleasing affect on Oasis, Black Grape, the Kinks and the Small Faces he's succeeded in putting a Robbie veneer on top. The lyrics - he co-write all the tracks here with ex-World Party man Guy Chambers - are fabulous: 'Old Before I Die' offers a brillaint (and hones) twist on 'My Generation'; 'Life Thru A Lens' takes a long overdue pop at the lifestyle of London it girls - "you sound so funny with your voice all plummy" - and'Clean' comically details the giddy headfuck of stardom. With rhymes running into one another like falling dominoes he turns in a few peculiarities like "hide away in your ivory tower/and cover me in your golden shower" ('Ego A Go Go'). As a consequence, all the songs sound like they were written in half an hour - which is no criticism. There's no point trying to be Elvis Costello when there's parties to go to. 'Freedom' isn't included here, but there is a George-Michael-doing-Elton-John moment, 'Angels', which turns out to be the record's nadir. Robbie's far better when he's trying to give it some Jagger 'tude. 'Life Thru A Lens' is a glossy, bold, funny, frolicking, lolloppy, shiny, lovely, gurning pop album with ten ace guitar-driven post-oasis pop songs on it and one slimy pre-oasis ballad. Which is more than we could have reasonably expected. Don't cha just love him?

Score: 8/10

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