Franz Ferdinand
– The Human Fear
Franz Ferdinand never really left the party—they just spent a little longer in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the tie. The Human Fear, their first album in seven years, doesn’t scream reinvention. It doesn’t need to. It slides into the room with that knowing smirk, offers a hand, and makes you dance anyway. The grooves are tighter, the guitars cut cleaner, and there’s a simmering tension beneath the glimmer that gives it teeth.
With new blood—Audrey Tait and Dino Bardot—joining the veterans, the band plays like they’re charging through a set on the last night of the tour. There’s less of the calculated slickness that crept into Always Ascending, and more of the taut swagger that made their debut irresistible. But instead of rehashing old tricks, they let the fear seep in. Not in a mopey, dirge-like way. No, this is fear that moves, writhes, dances. It’s the kind that hums in your chest when the lights go down and the unknown kicks the door open.
Still, for all its energy, the record does flirt with fatigue. A couple of mid-album cuts feel like placeholders—winking, well-dressed, but not all that interested in conversation. But then something like “The Doctor” or “Hooked” jolts the needle back. There’s a push-pull here—between joy and dread, movement and paralysis—that gives the record a pulse. Not everything lands, but the best moments don’t just echo their past—they electrify it.
Choice Tracks
Audacious
This one kicks down the door, drinks your gin, and dares you to flinch. It’s got that itchy, coiled energy they do so well, where every chord feels like it’s about to punch through the wall. The lyrics crackle with defiance, but there’s a grin underneath.
Hooked
Slippery bassline, twitchy guitars, and a chorus that refuses to stay seated. It’s Franz at their most rhythm-hungry—writing hooks not as pop candy, but as sharp little traps. It’s the kind of track that makes you want to drive too fast on a Saturday night.
The Doctor
This one feels like a fever dream in a cold nightclub. There’s paranoia in the corners and a rhythm that pounds like a migraine in leather boots. Whatever’s wrong, the beat insists you dance through it.
Night or Day
The existential crisis track, but make it stylish. It’s dramatic without being heavy, resigned without giving up. Guitars slash through the indecision like a spotlight in fog.
Franz Ferdinand may not be rewriting their blueprint on The Human Fear, but they’re coloring in the corners with darker, sharper tones. It’s a record that knows how to move, but more importantly, it knows how to linger.