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This is hopeless. It is barely even coherent. While not as marvellously stripped of meaning as the work of Gary Kemp, it brings a new player to the pop-songs-that-don’t-actually-make-any-sense table: total cluelessness. While Spandau Ballet’s songs stand their unreadable ground like the last surviving generals of long-forgotten wars, “The Call” doesn’t even know where its ground is. The music underneath it, meanwhile, is such a remarkably persuasive piece of pop constuction that it is almost impossible to resist: each chorus a little bit louder than the one before, a new instrument added every thirty-two bars or so, a few variations in the harmonies as the song progresses so that by the time the climax arrives we find ourselves hearing pained, sustained high chords that originated, at some point, somewhere, in somebody’s heart. The song coaxes the intended emotional response from the listener even as it refuses to give the listener any rational reason to respond at all. Listened to at high volumes over the course of an hour or two, it’s both thrilling and utterly terrifying. | |||
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