Fin de Siècle

Things get off to a stunning start with opening single Generation Sex, in which Hannon takes sound-bites from Jerry Springer and places them alongside a pulsating Nymanesque melody, which is then anchored by bleak lyrics about tabloid hell, princess Dianna, Clinton sex and animal testing. It's a great introduction to both the style and ideology of the album, with Neil essentially interweaving bitter, socially aware cabaret anthems alongside quiet, reflective, heart wrenching ballads. Despite this underlining social edge, Hannon is also able to subvert the feeling and intent of the song through his dry wit and sophisticated approach to melody, which gives the songs a darkly comic undertone to reduce the bleak message behind a number of the lyrics found herein. This is most apparent on songs such as Thrillseeker, Sweden and Here Comes the Flood, which draw on elements of cabaret and musical-style bombast to essentially sugarcoat the strong moral message hidden in the lyrics. The album also offers us a more varied sound, a darker subject matter and a more complex set of arrangements, which seems to work within a carefully constructed concept to present us with a collection of (I suppose) mini-symphonies, that effectively relate the joys of popular culture, on the cusp of a new millennium.

This style of gorgeous pop-melodies, juxtaposed with highly critical and deeply topical lyrics, is, of course, most apparent on the album's big hit single, the aforementioned National Express. Here, we have one of Hannon's greatest moments, complete with 60's style horn arrangements, backing vocals and an anachronistic guitar solo, not to mention that great lyrical exchange "...but it's hard to get buy, when your arse is the size, of a small country", which perfectly sums up the joys of commuter travel. Speaking of which, the idea of daily travel is continued on the beautiful ballad Commuter Love, which paints a picture of loneliness and hopeless romance against a backdrop of rush-hour confusion and technocratic existentialism, which is almost Kafkaesque in it's absurd, evocative recreation. The lyrics are truly heartbreaking, with Hannon hopelessly crooning "she doesn't know I exist, I'm gonn'a keep it like this" as the strings, electric guitars and echoing percussion unite, to create a Phil 'Spector-ish' style wall of sound.

The same could be said about the equally great run of songs that close the album, with Life on Earth employing a militia drum, operatic vocals and a subtle accordion, alongside the great lyric "so, au-revoir joi, bonjour tristesse... good times come and go, life owes nobody happiness, only pain and sorrow", whilst The Certainty of Chance was another doomy, orchestral, pre-millennial-style single, which really deserved to be a bigger hit. After the loud, over-produced, satirical cabaret number, Here Comes the Flood (which features actor Dexter Fletcher as an American sports caster reeling off the failings of the modern-world), the album slows down to embrace the beautiful ballad Sunrise, a stunning piece of pop-sophistication, which finds Hannon reflecting upon his childhood in the troubled Northern Ireland district of Enniskillen. The bleak political overview of the song is overcome by the delicate arrangement, Hannon's Scott Walker-like delivery and the evocation of the most beautiful sunrise we have ever seen.

For me, Fin De Siécle remains a magnificent record, and is one of the highlights of Hannon's career thus far (along with Liberation, Promenade and Absent Friends). The diversity of the music here is rich, and performed to perfection, whilst the lyrics are some of the best you'll ever hear, with Neil ably expressing a number of deep, bleak emotional concerns in a way that never seems cloying, obvious or despairing. With much of the Divine Comedy's early musical back-catalogue out of print, I would say that this 1998 release is as a good a place to start as any.