Before creating the famous crop-duster chase scene in his North by Northwest masterpiece, Alfred Hitchcock wondered how he could subvert rather than avoid the clichés commonly associated with this kind of scene. Listening to Office Politics, it seems Neil Hannon had the same interrogations for his socially engaged songs about the labour market. Lightyears from a “proletarian song decrying in the most literal sense possible the infamy caused by capitalistic productivism”, the mind behind The Divine Comedy abundantly uses humour, or – and this has been his trademark since Liberation in 1993 – a sharp pop lyricism (the Jacques Brel-esque crescendo in When the Working Day Is Gone), sometimes written as a bittersweet chronicle (Norman and Norma and its harrowing chorus contrasting with its naive verses).
Sarcastic humour is ever present throughout Office Politics and takes on different forms. Hannon enjoys playing with the dichotomy between light-hearted music and lyrics denouncing the blatant yet unashamed injustices of our times (Queuejumper). He also dabbles in caricature: the ominous “spy movie” atmosphere on Office Politics, as well as the emphatic references to westerns (guitars) and film noirs (saxophone, conga and harmonica orchestra) in You’ll Never Work in This Town Again. Not going as far as parody, the album is filled with references and homages to various composers and musical trends such as Philip Glass and Steve Reich’s minimalism in Philip and Steve’s Furniture Removal Company, German experimental electro (in the disconcerting diptych Psychological Evaluation and The Synthesiser Service Center Super Summer Sale), and many others (Kurt Weil, Sakamoto, Moroder, etc.). These excessive citations end up generating such distance that one can rightfully wonder whether it helps or hampers the album’s discernible intent. Is it just a sneer or a genuine critique? This is a typical Hannonian paradox. This maddening blend of references and musical colours turn The Divine Comedy’s twelfth album into a rather joyful and playful hotchpotch. But it also makes it somewhat frightening because of how chaotic, absurd, and even (purposefully) incoherent it may − deep down − appear. Just like the world in 2019 then? © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz