Album Review
Nickel Eye ft Nikolai Fraiture – The Time Of The Assassins
There was a time not that long ago when if an album being released contained a member of The Strokes, Nick Zinner and Regina Spektor then pandemonium would have ensued from both fans and critics alike. Now, the album has been released and almost instantly bypassed, like some backhanded drug deal in an alleyway.
The opening bass riff that bounces into play sounds like some warped cross between Rage Against The Machine and (dare I say it?) a porno soundtrack. The song is a perplexing amalgamation of genres, yet as soon as Nikolai’s drowned out monotone vocals creep in, it sounds like something that was produced in Manchester in 1990, confusing matters eve further.
What becomes apparent very early on is that Nikolai cannot sing. Even when he is dubbed as heavily as he is, he just sounds a bit like a watered down version of Julian Casablancas. Elements of Shane McGowan become apparent on the rather sombre ‘Fountain Avenue’ also. Although neither of the above possesses a conventional, classical or crisp voice they do possess an idiosyncratic fervour, an ability to manipulate songs, and most importantly they possess a personality, and this is sadly somewhat lacking within Nikolai’s voice; subsequently he has the tendency to alienate the listener.
One thing that is quite refreshing is the prominent and noticeable use of Nikolai’s chosen instrument, the bass. Usually when given the freedom to roam, some might and often do ditch their instrument and head for the limelight. Which although is the case somewhat here, it’s more of a sidestep than a leap, and he allows the bass to lead the songs as much as the acoustic guitar.
The songs vary so intently that picking favourite or stand out tracks is a far more subjective task than is normally the case. Perhaps most interesting though is ‘Back from Exile’, the opening guitar strums of which almost replicate Dylan’s ‘Hurricane’. The song possesses a somewhat sinister tone and is perhaps an example of a prettier accompaniment to suit his occasional drab singing style.
Mark Ronson loves it; calling it “Fucking Brilliant” and “Authentic Shit”, although I’m sure you would be weary of anyone calling anything ‘Authentic Shit’, let alone when it’s Mr suave himself. Truth is, the album is fine, it’s okay, it’s nice enough, it’s perfectly adequate. It’s an enjoyable yet unfulfilling album. The genres are plentiful and make the record diverse (if at times, a little on the basic side), which perhaps is a direct and much needed attempt to compensate for the lack of vocal diversity that occupies the album. The album ends with a like for like cover of ‘Hey, That’s no way to say goodbye’ by Leonard Cohen, which only adds the often fruitless feeling this album exudes. The album simply feels too lackadaisical, patchy and uninspiring to have any real substance, and yet bizarrely enough, for almost exactly the same reasons along with its inability to stir up any real emotions including dislike, one simply cannot discard the album entirely.