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We continue counting down my top ten albums of the last decade, with the debut album of a certain bass-eschewing triple-word three-piece – the highest placing release by an American act on the list.

#4
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Fever To Tell
[2003]

Yeah Yeah Yeahs first appeared in 2001 or so, riding the wave of interest in the supposed new-new-wave scene that had sprung up around The Strokes and their highly successful first album Is This It. They didn’t have a full-length album of their own at the time – just a five-song, self-titled EP, which caused quite a few folk to question the level of hype that surrounded them. There were accused of being all style and image – just a troika of poseurs.

That EP was fantastic though. Not that I heard it at the time. I did read about the minor controversy when BBC allowed ‘Bang’ to be played uncensored on daytime radio. (The chorus consists of Karen O repeating: “As a fuck, son, you suck.” - apparently the manager told the Beeb that she was singing “as a funk song you suck”.) I also missed out on the follow year’s three-song EP, Machine, with its fantastic, all-too-overlooked title title track.

It is possible – nay, probable – that my first experience of hearing the band was seeing the video of the first single from Fever to Tell on TV.

But it didn’t stick in my mind, so let’s pretend it didn’t happen.

My first experience of hearing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs occurred on trip to the United States in the summer of 2003 – my first and, thus far, only trip across the Atlantic. First stop was Boston – and it wasn’t long before I found myself in a music shop (or “record store”). One of the first things to surprise and amaze me was a fairly obvious, but foreign to Ireland, technological innovation: listening posts with barcode readers. You scan the CD and you have a listen. Simple, but brilliant. (I’d later find the same thing in Japan, but I still have never ever seen it in Ireland.)

And it was very near one of these magical listening posts that I saw the brash, in-your-face, violent cover art of Fever to Tell. If they were only style and no substance, at least the style stuff was interesting.

I plopped on the headphones. Scanned the disc. And was greeted by some effects-laden guitar harmonics. Then some pounding drums. Then a little sly hint of some other, louder guitars, ushering in a cocksure female vocal. Then feedback. Then riff. Then a break. Then “HEY!”:

I don’t think I even listened past that first song. I just went and bought it. If I’d kept listening I would have gotten a blast of that first single I somehow managed to ignore before. Listening to the song now, it seems inconceivable that it could not have generated some interest. Even after the hundredth listen, ‘Date with the Night’ still grabs you by the fucking balls:

I didn’t get to give the album a full listen until I got back to Ireland. It didn’t take me very long to get into it, though. The songs were short, sharp and to the point. The first five songs fly by in less than thirteen minutes. Each visceral – both musically and lyrically. Sexual too.

The sixth song changed the game in two minutes. That song, ‘Pin’, also released as the album’s second single, traded in the aggression for something more playful and melodic. Poppy, even. Maybe:

On all of these songs, the setup – just vocals, guitar and drums – allowed each member of the band to shine, without treading on each other’s toes. (Not unlike how The White Stripes, more indirect beneficiaries of The Strokes’ success, operated – although in their case, one person was responsible for two of the three elements). Karen O’s had incredible presence. I know that quality is usually described when talking about live performers, but with her you can hear it on the recording (though she seems to have plenty of presence live too…). Brian Chase’s drumming somehow managed have both a light touch and raw power. And Nick Zinner’s guitar work was very literally music to my ears.  None of what he plays is superfluous. Every bit of sound he rings out, whether it’s a distinct note or sheer noise, is essential.

Getting back to the album… after ‘Pin’ popped things up, the album got a bit darker. ‘Cold Light’ and ‘No No No’ remain my least favourite songs on the album. But they’re a necessary part of the running order – taking the album down a more off-beat route before revealing its trump card(s).

With the possible exception of ‘Our Time’, Nothing on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs or Machine EPs really hinted at a softer side. But that’s what comes right to the fore for most of the final third of the album. The last song on the track list, ‘Modern Romance’ and the CD’s hidden track, ‘Poor Song’, are both contenders for the slow set. The former a gentle lilting number, the latter a drunken, end-of-the-night, hold-each-other-up stagger.

The real jewel, of course, was the song – and the video – that made the band:

You can’t ignore the greatness of the song. And on the album, especially after the relative dirge of ‘No No No’, it commands your attention. And I know that I should only really be talking about the music, since it’s the album I’m praising. But that video – it’s impossible to deny. A simple performance set-up, with only some coloured lighting and a couple of lens flares to embellish it. All the power comes through Karen O. She’s absolutely incredible in it.

Song and video together, ‘Maps’ probably remains the band’s finest moment.

But when I do manage to abstract the song from the audio-visual combination, although I still love it, it wouldn’t be my pick of the album. For a bit, that honour went to ‘Tick’. Appearing in that blitz of songs on the first half of the album, it’s undoubtedly the most urgent on the album:

Alas, its reign at the top was, though not as short as the song itself, quite brief.

I said a few paragraphs ago that the soft side of the band came to the fore for most of the album’s final third. That qualification was because one of those later songs was not soft at all. Coming right between ‘Maps’ and ‘Modern Romance’, this song ensured that the album did not fade out quietly. And released as the fourth and final single, ‘Y Control’ gave the band’s Fever to Tell ”cycle” a blistering send off:

(I could only find the uncut/uncensored version of Spike Jonze’s video, which is a shame – the censored version worked a lot better.)

‘Y Control’ takes the energy of the earlier tracks on the album – even mirroring the harmonics of the first track ‘Rich’ with a siren-like looping guitar line – but adds to it the depth of the latter half of the disc. And taking the best elements of the album, it manages to pull them together without diminishing either. Indeed, it creates something even better. It does everything right.

Even when I go back and watch that ‘Maps’ video, when it gets to the end – my main feeling is one of disappointment, because it doesn’t follow through on that retained mini-segue into the next song and just cuts off instead.

But I’m getting a bit nitpicky now…

Overall, the album is a powerhouse. The band would go on to do very different things with the following albums. And not without success. But there’s something about the energy of Fever to Tell that makes it stick with you more instantaneously – and more indelibly – than its successors could achieve.

I don’t love them like I love you.

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