With their artfully tousled haircuts and general air of supreme nonchalance, Versailles electropoppers Phoenix are nothing if not cool. Indeed, it’s an adjective applied to them so often, the band might be tired of hearing it. That belief is strengthened by Phoenix’s sixth album, on which they seem to be goading each other into previously undiscovered realms of naffness. Inspired by an idealised, sun-dappled, “pre-Berlusconi” Italy, it’s a sugar rush of gaudy nostalgia, stocked full of buoyant Italo-rhythms and exercise-video synths.
This mode of self-aware cheesiness is a difficult tightrope to tiptoe across. When things click, as on the album’s standout track Tuttifrutti, and the melancholic tang of the band’s best songwriting peeks out behind the silly stuff, it works gloriously. But occasionally, as on the gelato-worshipping Fior Di Latte or the sub-Moroder Fleur De Lys, the mix seesaws into preposterousness. Ti Amo is a bold experiment, but Phoenix would be better served by keeping things chilled.
