Titling an album Suicide Songs is a risky move. It immediately invites criticism of being too dour and depressive. Or worse, it could be accused of romanticizing depression, mental illness, and suicidality. Manchester-based rockers MONEY take that risk on their sophomore album, churning out a batch of songs intended to sound like they are, in frontman Jamie Lee’s own words, “coming from death.”
MONEY dropped their debut The Shadow of Heaven back in 2013. It was a strong, if peculiar, set of songs, brimming with anxiety and big ambitions. While it sounded spectacular overall, it was also slightly derivative in places. “Who’s Going to Love You Now” echoed Arcade Fire’s triumphant “Wake Up” a bit too closely. “Bluebell Fields” recalled The Clientele’s brit-pop charm, but lacked that band’s ghostly ambience. If MONEY’s debut occasionally felt indebted to its influences, Suicide Songs blazes it’s own bleak, thrilling path.
Whereas The Shadow of Heaven was a big album that strived for bigness, Suicide Songs displays a more confident, mature side of the band. Previously, Lee’s voice was usually either soaring or sighing, now it creaks, groans, and digs deeper into his being. There are no overwrought attempts at prettiness or beauty in the music either (although it is at times a very beautiful album). The melodies are often vaguely Celtic-sounding, bringing a sense of cohesiveness to the compilation.
On MONEY’s first album, their best songs tended to be the longest, and that remains the case here. These guys excel when given room to stretch. “I’m Not Here” opens with jangly pianos and uplifting background chants that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Coldplay album. But the song’s end finds Lee gasping the words of the refrain, seemingly on the edge of existence. It’s a harrowing moment that captures the horrible feeling of loneliness, even when surrounded by others; loneliness as a condition, not a position. A few tracks later, “Night Came” swells and simmers over eight minutes, building to a glorious cacophony.
The brief title track sits as the album’s centerpiece. It sounds like something Neutral Milk Hotel might have recorded, but replaces Jeff Mangum’s feverish hallucinations with brutal realism: “I know some of us need to turn the light into dark… this is your suicide song.” Miraculously, the song somehow sounds more empathetic than callous, a testament to Lee’s perspective on the subject matter.
Suicide Songs closes out with “A Cocaine Christmas and an Alcoholic’s New Year.” It’s slow, slurred, sad, almost pretty, rather bleak, and a tad humorous. And that is precisely what makes Suicide Songs a success overall. It never tries to be one thing. Like it’s album art, it teeters gracefully between hope and despair, beauty and ugliness, bombast and restraint. Just like life.
Rating: GOOD