Sean Lennon took his time after the release of his 1998 debut,
Into the Sun, touring with
Cibo Matto while he was dating their keyboardist,
Yuka Honda, then just fading away into the New York socialite/artist scene after the turn of the millennium. He would pop up on-stage on occasion -- sometimes with
Paul Simon's son
Harper, sometimes with his mother,
Yoko Ono, sometimes with
Vincent Gallo -- but for the most part he kept a low profile (at least as far the rest of the U.S. outside of N.Y.C. was concerned) until 2006, when his sophomore effort,
Friendly Fire, was released. More than anything, it sounds like a record that was made without a sense of urgency -- its cascade of gently plucked acoustic guitars, vaguely baroque keyboards, echoey guitars, breathy harmonies, and liberal borrowings from psychedelic
Beatles and
Beach Boys sounds as if it's been mildly tinkered with over the years, a little bit added here, an overdub there, until it eventually was done. Sonically, it's not far removed from
Into the Sun; it's only not as cheery in spirit as that debut, and Lennon explained the reason why in the publicity surrounding the release of
Friendly Fire. The songs are inspired by a romantic catastrophe of his: his girlfriend slept with his best friend, thereby precipitating a breakup and a falling out, and the friend died in a motorcycle accident before Lennon could patch things up with him. Sad stuff, no doubt, and knowledge of the tale lends resonance to the album's title. It's helpful to know the context to provide emotional weight to this set of palely pretty, sort of sad, yet sort of sweet indie pop bathed in the glow of the '60s. [This edition includes a bonus DVD.]
