FIZZ – The Secret To Life

Psychedelic Pop

83%

 

When Boygenius dropped their album at the start of the year I remarked how it showed that the key to a great supergroup is the connection between its members. While I’m glad to have another data point to back up my theory, I’ll admit that I wasn’t expecting 2023 to be bookended by superb supergroups. Yet FIZZ are just that, no two ways about it, and even if I hadn’t heard a single note of this record I’d be able to confidently say it’s the product of a group of close friends coming together to do what they love with the people they love. I don’t think I’ve seen a single project from Dodie, Orla Gartland, Greta Isaac or Martin Luke Brown that hasn’t involved at least one of the others in some capacity. Whether that’s writing credits, backing vocals, music videos, being part of each other’s live bands etc. To know one is to know the others, all part of the same musical family. 

It’s no surprise then to see these kindred spirits join forces more overtly this time around (if anything it’s odd that it’s taken them this long). What is surprising is the nature of the project. All of their musical output to date has been on a spectrum somewhere between quirky folk and indie pop, so you’d expect more of the same when they come together, right? Instead The Secret To Life is full of madcap maximalist mayhem. Eccentric, vibrant and at times bursting with energy, like making a Jackson Pollock painting with explosives, stepping into Fizzville feels akin to listening to Sgt Pepper’s for the first time. There’s so much “Yes, and…” going on here, nothing is off the table, sincerity and absurdity are both equally welcome.

While I count myself a fan of each of the members, in truth I’ve often found myself wanting to like their music more than I actually do. There’s none of that here, this outlandish bombast is exactly what I never knew I needed, a shared hallucination that I’m glad to partake in. Hearing just how far the band have pushed each other creatively, I’m inclined to add another marker for great supergroups. Circling back to that Boygenius record, my greatest gripe with it was how each member felt in their own little world. At times it felt more like a compilation than a collaboration, and it was in the few moments where the three of them acted as a unit that I think they shined most. What truly is the function of the supergroup, after all, if not fusing different artist’s creative sensibilities together. FIZZ embody the ideal supergroup in that the band feels greater than the sum of its parts. Not only in the moments where they join forces to lift the lid on their imaginations like Pandora’s box, but also on the tracks where one member takes the lead. Each one of them is functioning at their best thanks to having their friends behind them encouraging them. 

Lead single ‘High On Brighton‘ is a whimsical roaring sugar rush full of 70s glam theatricality, and the somnolent harmonies on ‘Strawberry Jam’s chorus feel very Beatles. ‘I Just Died’ meanwhile has a chorus with hints of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’s operatic section and builds to a zany clarinet solo, while ‘Hell of a Ride’ leads the album into heavier territory with its doomy lead riff. FIZZ’s power is at its greatest when they’re unified, and the astonishing harmonies are certainly the album’s secret weapon, but I love how everyone gets their own time in the spotlight. Greta gives her all on raging rocker ‘As Good As It Gets’, unleashing so much pent up frustration on this feminist anthem. Dodie has rarely sounded as raw and personal as she does on the heartbreak balladry of ‘You, Me, Lonely’. Martin’s jaunty piano of ‘Rocket League’ is an all too fleeting shot of serotonin that I can’t help but yearn for more of. And between the crystal clear piano, understated bass groove, and Orla’s warm and engaging vocal delivery, ‘Close One’ is my album highlight and I think one of her best performances to date.

Rarely have the words ‘The Grand Finale’ felt like a more fitting descriptor than for this album’s closing chapter. Each member takes the reins to lead this shifting chimera across the finish line. Greta’s section revives the Sgt. Pepper vibes, echoing the vaudeville music hall charm of ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’, before crashing headlong into Martin’s rollicking rock’n’roller energy. It all culminates in a medley of melody reprises from across the whole album; one last whistle-stop tour of Fizzville before sending you on your merry way. 

They just don’t make albums like this anymore. I can’t remember when I last heard an album that sits at the centre of the Venn diagram between silly and earnest the way The Secret To Life does. It throws off the shackles of normality and expectation and commits to being as fun and weird as it damn well pleases at every given opportunity, yet every last quirk is afforded the same level of respect and attention to detail as the serious moments. Just because an act of expression is absurd doesn’t exclude it from also being heartfelt. Each member, and the gloriously opulent production, backs up everyone’s off the wall ideas to the hilt. Orla, Dodie, Greta and Martin skip hand in hand through the looking glass into a topsy-turvy world on this record; here’s hoping it’s just the first of many forays into Fizzville, as it’s the place where they’re all at their best.