When Thomas Bangalter and Guy Manuel de Homem Christo delivered their debut in 1997, it was rightly hailed as a modern dance classic. “Homework” (they’d certainly done theirs) arrived at le moment juste – in the UK, drum ‘n’ bass was being driven back to the underground and big beat was peaking (The Chemical Brothers’ definitive “Dig Your Own Hole” was released the same year).
So, what next? The French duo’s utterly compulsive blend of electro, funk, post-techno and progressive house provided the answer, establishing France as the home of nu-disco and Daft Punk as its guardians. Four years later, “Discovery” proved they were no one-trick pony and shifted their focus to the cheesier end of early 80s electro, while using their now trademark Vocoder-style effects with almost comical frequency and looping everything within earshot. So far, so damned groovy.
A further four years on and Daft Punk’s latest studio effort is the dreaded “difficult third album” - not because it’s the sound of a band straining hard for new ideas, but precisely because there’s no evidence of any struggle at all. With “Human After All” the pair are running both on the spot and out of ideas. In making an album comprised of nothing but their stylistic tics – the over-used Vocoder/pitch bender, the monstrously compressed acid squelches, the crunchy, rock guitar motifs – Daft Punk are like a celebrity chef who serves up nothing but his signature dish. Soon, you’ll stop eating in his restaurant.
“Human After All” (the pair’s man/machine fixation is still in place) does have its moments: the title track is a neat distillation of their sound - effervescent, hi-NRG, post-house pop; monstrous first single, “Robot Rock” must surely be a winner with all chemically modified mortals currently hitting the dancefloor; and “Make Love” is a sweet drift of digital neo-funk with a dash of Godley & Creme, but…
We expect more from Daft Punk than a lame appropriation of The Prodigy’s hammer-and-anvil dynamics (“The Brainwasher”), the bland “Steam Machine” - which suggests Darth Vader trapped in a sauna with a Euro-trance 12-inch playing at 25rpm – or the idiotically repetitive “Television Rules the Nation”, which bangs away so tediously at the opiate-of-the-masses drum, you’d think Daft Punk had just beamed here from the 14th century. We expect more from them because previous deliveries were timely and perfectly designed, with a high fun quotient.
Claiming to be “Human After All” can’t excuse Daft Punk from a mistake like this.
