Joe Jackson has made a career out of defiance.
From the first we heard of him—1979’s edgy New Wave collection Look Sharp!—Jackson’s persona has shouted untamable iconoclast. From his initial punk-inspired, guitar-focused records, the Royal Academy of Music-trained pianist-vocalist quickly veered into jump blues, big-band jazz, sophisticated nightclub pop, dance hall and more. In Jackson’s case, “following the muse” has meant jumping from style to style and project to project, a musical omnivore with the brassy confidence—and chops—to back up his own restless nature.
From time to time, Jackson has circled back to more familiar pop-rock forms as if to prove, once again, that he can adapt his work to any genre he wants, sometimes honoring its conventions, but more often seeking to bend or extend them. At 71 years young, Jackson is unleashing Hope And Fury on his audience, a new collection of nine songs that at times feel almost like an amalgamation of all of the above styles. It’s a convergence we should welcome, a strategy for aiming his many shades of smartly-crafted vitriol without taming them.
Opener “Welcome To Burning-By-Sea” functions as a sort of overture for the album, a brash and cutting profile of a fictional British coastal city that resembles Jackson’s English home base of Portsmouth while also functioning as a microcosm of the nation. Then the even-darker “I’m Not Sorry” matches a typically acidic—and unapologetic—rant to a shape-shifting arrangement that hybridizes several of his past musical flings together: a rocking blues-funk-nightclub jazz anthem.
The sophisticated urban jazz-pop of Jackson’s 1982 smash Night And Day is referenced in “Make God Laugh” as Jackson ruminates on the futility of making plans and “the fickle flash of fame.” The tight yet airy arrangement features all four principal supporting players—Graham Maby (bass), Teddy Kumpel (guitar), Doug Yowell (drums) and Paulo Stagnaro (percussion)—though to my ear the unsung hero of this track, and album, is self-described bassist-for-life Maby.
The brief (2:21) “Do Do Do” follows with a pastiche of New Wave sass (love that wheezy Elvis Costello organ) and early Beatles, a silly novelty that’s nonetheless Joe all over, full of brio, attitude and a self-aware sense of absurdity. A Night And Day intro—a chiming piano melody doubled by bells—leads into “Fabulous People,” a steady-rocking, expansive number exploring identity and ambiguity in a vaguely autobiographical way (Jackson has been open about his bisexuality).
“After All This Time” gives a kind of moody ’70s piano rock feel, laced with typically sharp Jackson lines. “The Face” offers a rather jazzy, tidal push and pull, piano that’s percussive until the bridge, where he trades solos with guitarist Kumpel. Then the penultimate “End Of The Pier” opens with urgent piano that jump-cuts to an airy jazz-funk bass-drums-guitar arrangement that’s full of unreleased tension as Jackson sketches a gritty working-class life.
Hope And Fury closes out as Jackson often has, with a billowing, bittersweet ballad. “See You In September” is anchored on his tinkly jazz piano, conjuring a bit of melancholy nostalgia: “I know there was a wild time or two / Some of which I still remember / If the years keep going faster / There’s not much I can do / I’m just happy no one’s bugging me / For sleeping in the afternoon.”
I’ve caught references attempting to cast Hope And Fury as a “return to rock” for Joe Jackson, but it really isn’t. It’s pure Joe all the way: led by his piano and voice, acerbic and melodic, adventurous and witty, angry and sad. The drums might be up louder on a few tunes, the guitars more present here and there, and the rhythms do tend to set one’s feet to tapping, but there’s more on this album that’s descended from Night And Day than from Look Sharp!. Hope And Fury is simply Joe being Joe, as he always has—and, one hopes, always will.