Shape-shifting Canadian pop craftsman Daniel Bejar's ninth studio album under the
Destroyer moniker added a whole lot of
Bryan Ferry to a pot already boiling over with copious amounts of
Bowie, Dylan, and
T. Rex. Bejar's predilection for pairing
Oscar Wilde-inspired, semi-apocalyptic witticisms with glam-kissed, minor-seventh retro pop remained intact, but where previous outings like
This Night and
Streethawk: A Seduction mined the '70s for inspiration, 2011's
Kaputt utilizes '80s sophisti-pop, New Romantic, Northern soul, and straight-up adult contemporary to deliver a flawed but fascinating record. Like
Goldfrapp's divisive, 2010 retro dance-pop tribute
Head First,
Kaputt is fully committed to its cause, wrapping everything up in a pristine, immaculately produced biosphere that's filled to the brim with twinkling synths, soft rock drums, and enough wailing trumpets and saxophones to out-mellow
Kenny G,
David Sanborn, and
Dave Koz combined. Ever the well-read, secretly pleased malcontent ("I write poetry for myself"), Bejar sounds more comfortable in this new disguise than he does on his more troubadour-oriented projects, as if producing the soundtrack for a discotheque with a capacity of one was his intention all along. His epic 11-minute, 2009 single "Bay of Pigs," which he described at the time as "ambient disco," could hardly serve as a more fitting conclusion to
Kaputt, as it more than lives up to its creator's boast. "Suicide Demo for Kara Walker," "Song for America," "Chinatown," all of which skillfully tread water between the urbane intellectualism of Donald Fagan or
Momus and the quiet, technical nihilism of
Talk Talk, differ very little from the remaining six cuts, which may cause fans of his more adventurous work some fits, but there's no denying their icy, coke-fueled 2:00 A.M. elegance.
