For someone who spent much of his youth in dank underground metal clubs or, later, pretentiously and very publicly reading books recommended by Richey Edwards, I’ve always had an inexplicable soft spot for the music of Robbie Williams. It’s hard to believe today, but 25 years ago, the hottest thing in British music was this UFO-hunting weirdo, with his mortifyingly middle-aged proclivity for hosting excruciatingly embarrassing, pioneeringly naff, therapy-speak-laden “art exhibitions”. Yes, Robbie got his big break as a knuckle-dragging dancer in queer-as-folk MI5-PsyOp boy band Take That but, after getting kicked out for being too much of a twat – an achievement in itself, if you think about it – he promptly and unexpectedly became the heir apparent to Oasis. For ten years around the turn of the millennium, Robbie was the Golden Goose rendering confrontational Britpop as smoothly digestible radio play and I, like much of the rest of the British public, guiltily gobbled up his first few albums, before losing interest after the release of 2006’s shambolic Rudebox. Now, with the recent appearance of his characteristically intriguing and cringe-inducing biopic, the time has come to assess the fat dancer from Take That’s proper place in the dubious history of light entertainment.
Life thru a Lens (1997)
After being unceremoniously banished from Gary Barlow’s Camelot-like Round Table of dyslexic male strippers in July of 1995, Robbie promptly spent a drunken summer serving as Oasis’ version of Bez. Some suit at Chrysalis then decided to get this tapdancing car crash in a room with “songwriting Svengali” Guy Chambers, and the rest is history. The Gallaghers’ influence evidently rubbed off and, musically, Life Thru a Lens is merely polished up, competently composed Britpop. To general astonishment, however, the performing monkey turned out to be a gifted lyricist and singer. Even this early in his career, Robbie’s words possessed a snark and vulnerability that are a thousand times more interesting than the humourless, Mick Hucknall-like stylings of his rotund former paymaster in Take That, and they hint not only at an acerbic wit (“South of the Border”), but also at a self-lacerating darkness (“Killing Me”). Obvious highlights include the Freddy Mercurian stomp of “Let Me Entertain You”, and syrupy funeral favourite “Angels” but, overall, it’s a surprisingly substantial first effort, for someone whose writing credits up to this point comprised little more than the chorus of “Everything Changes.”
Rating: * * *
Standout track: “Angels”
I’ve Been Expecting You (1998)
The monster success of “Angels” somewhat precociously launched Robbie into his imperial phase, engineering for him a vice-like grip over the British charts that he would not relinquish for the better part of a decade. Like Damon Albarn and Thom Yorke, he also saw that the tide was turning away from mid-90s guitar bore wankery, and so he wisely elected to mix it up a bit, recruiting the Pet Shop Boys and recording a glossier, camper, more beat-infused record than the Britpop lite of his debut. The latter tendency remains predominant, of course, on the anthemic opener “Strong”, the rollicking “It’s Only Us”, and the character assassinating pop-punk of “Karma Killer”, a vitriolic needling of his former manager in Take That. But I’ve Been Expecting You is best remembered for the eerie synths and embittered lyrics of “No Regrets”, and of course for “Millennium”, which unfortunately is more Die Another Day than You Only Live Twice. The twinkle-eyed cheek, the solipsistic self-disgust, the guitars and the grooves – it’s all there in the proper proportions, making this perhaps the quintessential Robbie Williams album.
Rating: * * * *
Standout track: “No Regrets”
Sing When You’re Winning (2000)
An appropriate album title, because Robbie was indeed winning a lot here. This was the biggest selling album of 2000 in the UK, every single he released from it was a hit, and it marked the precise moment when he passed a declining Oasis en route to the summit of British popular music. The triumphant mood is immediately apparent from the opening string of big hitters; the messianic “Let Love Be Your Energy”, the pop-funk bounce of “Rock DJ”, the sleazy, hard-rocking cabaret of “Kids.” And yet, behind the scenes, the storm clouds are already gathering. “Supreme” was a monster hit, but it’s a deeply cynical, even despairing take on atomised, post-modern dating scenes; acoustic ballads like “If It’s Hurting You” and “Singing for the Lonely” betray a burgeoning exhaustion and despondency; while closer “Road to Mandalay” tells a haunted tale of a toxic relationship under the Far Eastern sun. Indeed, that sun will soon set on Robbie’s imperial phase, as the depredations of fame and frivolity take their inevitable toll.
Rating: * * *
Standout track: “Supreme”
Conintued in part II.