Published on Jul 15, 2003
When you open your album with one of the best opening tracks of
all-time, you are setting yourself up. Audiences may put that
particular track on “repeat” or “rewind,” depending on your mode of
music. Then, when they are eventually tired of it, the album heads
to the used bin of a record store or gathers dust in a CD
collection.
That’s the case for The Verve’s final in-studio album,
Urban Hymns. The album opens with “Bittersweet Symphony,”
and while the song pretty much thieves the Rolling Stones (to the
point where they had to pay virtually all of their royalties of
that song to the band), the Verve’s version is arguably superior to
the Stones. The song weaved its way into Nike commercials and due
to the U.S. interest in Brit-pop music at that time with Oasis and
Blur, The Verve was able to capitalize on some of that success.
“Sonnet,” the next song, doesn’t do much to keep the listener’s
ear: It’s a nice song overall, but unlike “Bittersweet Symphony,”
it takes a few listens to set in. I admit, I didn’t listen to
Urban Hymns in its entirety until last week, and I have
owned this CD since 1997. But it took almost six years to discover
the best way to listen to this album: on a dreary Sunday afternoon,
on your couch and with the remote far out of hand’s reach so you
have no choice but to absorb the entire album in one listen.
Most of the other tracks on
Urban Hymns have the same longing, resigned, defeated feel
of “Bittersweet Symphony” and their lesser-known hit, “The Drugs
Don’t Work.” The song “The Drugs Don’t Work” is said to be either
about Ashcroft’s own struggles with drug addiction or losing his
father. But there’s no sense in digging for meaning about the song:
the lyrics are fairly straightforward and the orchestration is so
achingly beautiful that you can’t help but feel the line, “like a
cat in a bag, waiting to drown” to the marrow.
If Oasis owe homage to the Beatles, The Verve owe homage to the
’60s era in general.
Urban Hymns is awash in psychedelic landscapes. This is
especially evident on “Catching the Butterfly.” After the emotional
lows expressed in “The Drugs Don’t Work,” “Catching the Butterfly”
has an airy, spacey vibe that provides a much-needed lift to the
listener.
For those looking for a “morning after hangover” album,
Urban Hymns definitely has more downbeat moments. Lyrics fit
for the best of breakup letters (“We have existence and that’s all
we share,” from “Space and Time” and “One day, maybe I will dance
again,” from “One Day”) liberally scatter the album. Ashcroft’s
romanticism and sad lyrics intersect perfectly in the song, “Velvet
Morning,” a song that should be required to be played in coffee
houses at least once on Sunday mornings.
Much has been ballyhooed about Ashcroft’s voice, and justifiably
so. However, the band is able to provide some of the most moving
elements to
Urban Hymns. Peter Salisbury’s drumming is neither
overpowering nor is it just background noise. And Nick McCabe
cements his status at being one of the best lead guitarists in
music after
Urban Hymns.
Internal drama imploded The Verve after the recording of
Urban Hymns. The band broke up before the album was
recorded, but in 1999, the band said this time was definite. With
this CD, The Verve were placed alongside such other classics as
Oasis’
(What’s the Story) Morning Glory? and Blur’s
Parklife. And though Oasis and Blur are still chugging away,
it is admirable that The Verve opted to quit at their artistic
peak. The band shouldn’t have to worry about additional royalties
from this album. As long as hangovers, personal identity crisis and
breakups exist, there will be a need for
Urban Hymns.