Fontaines D.C.
Romance
XL
When Fontaines D.C. first burst onto the scene back in 2019, I was perhaps unfairly convinced that they could do exactly one thing, albeit quite well. It’s hard to say where they fell within the unending wave of post-punkers coming out of the UK and Ireland, but their array of cheeky riffs and swaggering bravado didn’t so much separate them from the crowd as make them figureheads. A few years later, when writing about their 2020 follow-up A Hero’s Death, I noted how the band seemed to be toying with the idea of breaking free of those constraints, not really satisfied with being whatever it is people imagined them to be. Then, in 2022, they dropped Skinty Fia and began formulating a compelling argument for being one of the best rock bands in the world, shading their punky bluster with a truly malignant sense of dread and disquiet.
Which brings us to their latest, Romance, an album that aims to fully put to bed any argument claiming predictability, monotony, or tedium. Much of this can be attributed to a newfound sense of freedom for a band that’s been through the hype grinder for a few years now. Where previous records seemed to be reactions to success, notoriety, and the weight of expectations, Romance is only interested in reacting to the fickle muse running through the band. You see this often throughout the record, for better or worse. A song like “Bug,” for example, is the sunniest the band’s sounded in years, embracing sweeping, big-tent Britpop—something that would’ve been unimaginable on Skinty Fia.
It’s here you can feel the influence of the band’s new producer James Ford, whose work with groups like Arctic Monkeys and The Last Dinner Party betrays a desire for unpretentious bombast. Where “Bug” is one of the best songs on the record, its spiritual inverse, “Motorcycle Boy,” is lacking a similar juice. “Sinner shows emotion, provokes them to hang […] No one wants their madness,” sings vocalist Grian Chatten on the lightly psychedelic, somewhat-grating exploration of a disjointed persecution complex that builds to very little payoff.
An ungenerous analysis of Romance might make more of that “grating” descriptor, though I’m not sure I can fully get there. More than ever, Chatten and company are walking a fine line both within the content of the record and all that surrounds it. Whether they’re working through big emotions, dressing like this, or alternating between James Joyce quotes and original lines like “I live meritorious,” Fontaines are either trying to be the coolest band in the world or are completely uninterested in being cool whatsoever, and I’m not sure which I’d prefer. This is most evident here on songs like “In the Modern World” and “Death Kink,” two tracks that come dangerously close to self-parody without ever truly crossing the line. “I don’t feel anything in the modern world” isn’t exactly nuanced, but Chatten gets away with it through sheer force of personality. He somehow does the same with the latter track, a sneering diatribe both brilliant and absurd, with the distinction often muddy.
But if these are examples of the band’s Icarian instincts, it’s Romance’s first two singles that prove they might make it to the sun yet. By all rights, “Starburster”—featuring Chatten’s frantic rap-indebted delivery and pseudo-industrial beat—shouldn’t work, but somehow he’s able to invoke an alternate universe where Damon Albarn manages to do both the singing and rapping on every Gorillaz song with equal aplomb. “Favourite,” on the other hand, is pure pop mastery, a no-doubter that serves as an ideal reflection on the band’s blue-collar origins without ever feeling the least bit suspicious. I’m less sure than ever about what Fontaines D.C. is or could be—and for that, Romance is often a triumph.
