This love's for gentlemen only
The easy pop brilliance of Phoenix is so deceiving, as illustrated by "Lisztomania." The frustrations of music-making is made clear in Thomas Mars' eloquent yet infectious lyrics. The neurosis of so sentimental / not sentimental, no! / romantic, not disgusting yet is evocative of so many behind-the-scenes works, everything from Woody Allen to Fellini's 8 1/2 - you can practically see the discarded notes littering the floor. What's even better is that "Lisztomania's" music isn't a study of anxiety and neurosis. The music is so meticulously catchy, so blissfully good that the disgust, the loneliness of writing is evident only in the lyrics. As Mars so perfectly put it: from mess to the masses.
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