Sound Check — Geoff Carter: Smart, savvy grooves found on ‘Anomie and Bonhomie’

Friday, Feb. 4, 2000 | 8:18 a.m.

Geoff Carter's music column appears Fridays. Reach him at carter@vegas.com.

Back in 1985 I was reluctant to declare my love of Scritti Politti to friends. I thought the songwriting and vocal style of the angel-voiced Green -- the group's catalyst -- too polished for my friends to accept. However, I couldn't keep my enjoyment concealed for long, and one week I gave several acquaintances homemade cassettes of "Cupid and Psyche '85," Scritti's breakthrough 1985 release.

Whatever I'd hoped to achieve by that, it worked. Less than a week later even the most avowedly anti-pop of my peers were hooked. One even returned my cassette copy, with the proviso that I "give it to someone else" because "I bought my own."

"Cupid" remains one of the strongest pure-pop records of the past two decades. Even its strongest intelligent detractors grudgingly admit that the record is catchy as all hell. With its glassine keyboards, scientifically sharp percussion and hints of scratchy guitar, it seemed a gift from an alien intelligence; one of those records you can't imagine actually being recorded by humans, in an average studio environment.

The record drew fans from nearly every genre. Funk progenitor Roger "Zapp" Troutman called the band and inquired after playing with them; he appeared on the next record, 1988's somewhat underwhelming "Provision." Miles Davis loved it enough to cover "Cupid's" hit single, "Perfect Way," and even sat in on the "Provision" sessions.

Though cool to "Provision," critics agreed, almost unanimously, that Scritti Politti was a good thing that would only get better. Perhaps that's part of the reason that the follow-up to "Provision," "Anomie and Bonhomie," wouldn't be released until a decade after everyone had forgotten Scritti completely. As James Caan once put it eloquently, "Absence doesn't make the heart grow fonder; absence makes people think you're dead." It's not a comeback -- "Anomie" is a resurrection.

"Anomie and Bonhomie" begins with "Umm," a four-minute, guitar-and-rap-driven cooker that establishes the record's reason for being; it allows Green to indulge his new love for Brooklyn hip-hop and lo-fi garage rock -- halfway between Pavement and Wyclef Jean. Green tips the scale one direction or the other, seeming arbitrarily at first listen. Later you realize that he's allowing the emotions of the songwriting to shape the sound, rather than the other way around.

"Umm" kicks off with a spare hip-hop beat, propelled by the bass work of Me'shell Ndegeocello and rapper Lee Major's exhortation to "body-slam, program the jam." Suddenly Green's guitar chimes in, drummer Abe Laboriel switches from the kick bass to the snare, and "Umm" is transformed into the best song Stephen Malkmus never wrote. The hip-hop passages are narration, while the rock sections define the plot.

It all seems so simple, so beautifully symbiotic -- so why isn't anyone else doing it? Beck comes close, but his funk/rock swings run to alternate albums, alternate tracks; he rarely entertains both in the same sentence. "Anomie," for all its gifts, is already being dismissed by some critics as cut-rate Beck. They're hardly the same.

Rock/soul fusion used to be based in melody. The worst of today's fusion mob -- Limp Bizkit comes to mind, also Puffy Combs -- crank up the volume and histrionics at the mercy of the tune and the beats. "Anomie" doesn't hold truck with that kind of ignorance; it celebrates purity, even at the expense of its creator's ego. The vocal of "Tinseltown to the Boogiedown," a duet between Mos Def and Majors, allows the rap to dominate the number; Green's vocals are restricted to a brief, recurring chorus.

Of course, Green hasn't forgotten how to make ear candy. The breezy reggae of "Mystic Handyman" (say it fast: "mister candyman") will have you in thrall by the second verse. (Green seems to know it; although his lyrics more often than not send you scrambling for a dictionary -- you try using "hermeneutic" an "paradigm" in the same sentence -- he is comfortable enough with the groove of "Handyman" to give the verse over to onomatopoeia.)

"Born to Be" and "First Goodbye" are tender and complex ballads, utterly solid -- this isn't the syrupy junk that passes for R&B ballads these days. "Prince Amongst Men" and "Smith 'n' Slappy" take the rock/rap promise of "Umm" and push it further still. And "Brushed With Oil, Dusted With Powder" weaves its tale of a Southern California murder in the only way such a story can be told: with cold, lyrical grace ("it was love, no matter what they say"), set against a gorgeous, string-rich arrangement. You can practically see the sunlight gleaming off the police cars.

Even with this strong record tucked under his arm, Green has an uphill battle ahead of him. Scritti's older fans are bemoaning the group's embrace of hip-hop, wishing that Green would make the same music he made 15 years ago, where others might take his venerability as a handicap: there's a reason that ABC, the Human League, and Howard Jones aren't selling many records anymore, and it isn't just because their most recent releases stink on ice.

No, you have to approach "Anomie and Bonhomie" with defenses down. Let the smart, savvy grooves envelop you; delight in the sly intelligence of the lyric sheet. "Anomie'"is perfect pop, as unique a record as you'll find in this day and age. Green spent years looking for the "perfect way"; with "Anomie and Bonhomie" he finds it, and shares the riches.