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Franz Ferdinand

Ulysses

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.



BP
8 / 10

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