Something A Little Bit Different...
It is probably the fact that The Vichy Government's caustic keyboard pop defies definition that makes it so endearing, but attempting to give an accurate description of it in less than 500 words is a daunting task. Stripped down to its component parts, 'White Elephant' is one-part visceral and brutally blunt lyrics delivered with authoritative assurance and one part twinkling Casio charm; dubious though it sounds, it all works wonderfully.
'Death of a Mummy's Boy' makes you wonder whether you should laugh or cry as Jamie Manners reels out a blow by blow gritty account of suicide with a soft, poetic voice and the chilling ticking of a clock. If you've survived this faintly morbid opener, then you probably have the right sense of humour or curiosity to be rewarded by the rest of the album.
"God gave us AIDS to save the world," asserts Jamie in a deadpan tone over the shimmery keyboard part of 'The Greatest Gift of All' with plenty more wry aphorisms to follow, try the couplet, "Man made Popeye to sell spinach and man made God in his own image". It's so politically incorrect and cynically sharp that you can't help but smile, and lose your faith in society a little… 'Little Fishes' would ostensibly be a chirpy, ludic tune, were it not for its bitter indictment of our notion of free will, "Little fishes swimming in the sea, little fishes like to think they're free, little fishes, let me tell you this, free will is something that doesn't exist". It's a tragicomic tale told with wide-eyed sincerity.
Elsewhere 'Poor Little Chelsea Fan' paints a glorious image of a Chelsea fan, "listening to U2 in your BMW, you were driving home with a smile on your face when without warning your engine blew beside a council estate somewhere in Haringey". It's one of the most outright humorous tunes on the album, although probably not if you're a Chelsea fan, but Manner's patronising chorus vocals are full of jeering, leering bittersweet comedy.
Although the lyrics and emphatic vocals are probably the focus of the album, they are carried and their meaning tinged by Andrew Chilton's various keyboard accompaniments. 'The Dog, The Divorcee and Me's disorientating blend of chiming bells, insistent vocals and ringing synths give it a mildly theatrical air, while 'Winter Forever' has a fine fluttering keyboard melody bursting from beneath the chilly frisson of vocals.
You're never sure quite whether to laugh or cry at the duo's vignettes about a fictional abusive childhood, Sharia law and the painful drudgeries of everyday life, but that's the gripping charm of the music. It's all rather gloriously depraved, but rightfully proud of it and any good-humoured listener should embrace the downright honesty of the quirky tunes.