Franz Ferdinand

Ulysses

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Raised eyebrows? Check. Elegantly stamped foot? Check. Arch grins all round? Big check. But this time the wry smirks are because Franz have done what Franz do best and written a hook so big you could dangle France off it, but taken latent ’80s revivalism and slapped it on thick. Cyberpunk guitars, breaksy drums, a middle eight from David Byrne’s nightmares and Alex’s lounge lizard-from-hell semi-rapping not only point to a third album far removed from ‘…So Much Better’, but still prove they are the smartest guys in pop. Smug gits.



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