The below originally appeared in slightly different form on my primary blog in 2004.
Neil Tennant has said he and musical partner Chris Lowe conceived of Nightlife as an updated, dance-friendly version of one of Frank Sinatra’s theme albums of the 50s - an unusual conceit, to say the least. But much like The Chairman’s In The Wee Small Hours, this is a record of loss, hope, and longing.
The opening trilogy of “For your own good,” “Closer to heaven,” and “I don’t know what you want but I can’t give it anymore” provide the Pet Shop Boys sound I love more than anything else - the upbeat, danceable sad songs that have kept them close to my heart for two decades. In the first track, Neil implores his lover to come home as a massive riff provided by producer Rollo builds and builds to a frenzy. While the structure and sound remind me heavily of the producer’s work with his own Faithless, it’s still unmistakably a Pet Shop Boys track. “Closer to heaven” follows soon after - continuing the theme of the first - “Where’d you go? / Did you lose your way? Tell me now / you’re coming home to stay” and building on it while Neil’s falsetto gives you the impression that he knows how hopeless his love for the unseen other is. “I don’t know what you want but I can’t give it anymore” is remarkable for reasons other than its unwieldy name - some of the most pointed lyrics the band have produced come to the fore - “Was it cracking the code / or just filling in time? Was that all? So then why’d you go back to the scene of the crime / did he call?” - while strings and carefully crafted beats drive them straight into the listener’s heart. You feel everything that he’s trying to say while you nod along or (if you’re that sort of person) dancing to David Morales’s fine, fine production.
The album’s first odd moment shows up with “Happiness is an option,” which can be said to be a cousin to the group’s smash “West End Girls” - it’s a rap with occasional singsong moments. Of course, being the Smartest Men In Pop, they manage to work in references to Russian literature while telling the listener to hang on - the relationship will work out. This leads into “You only tell me you love me when you’re drunk,” a nod to classic country music that needs to be covered by Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash (which would be a hell of a feat now.) Slide guitar, warm synth pads, and Neil’s plaintive lyrics create a truly unique pop tune - words from a fan can’t do it justice.
“Vampires” is a tune on which my opinion swings wildly, depending on the time of day, point in the lunar cycle, and whether or not I am, once again, Sick Of Vampires And All That Shit. Well done, certainly, but the metaphor for clublife is pretty heavy-handed and the lyrics aren’t up to their usual standards. The line “It’s a reflex - just a reflex like fear or sex” makes me think of all the worst cliches peddled to the masses by Anne Rice and her ilk. “The only one” goes back to the album’s main themes - betrayal and doubts towards the one you love. Neil’s intimate vocals and gentle, lilting backing brings the point home - “Though you’ve many reasons to tell me a lie, I can’t help believing that I should be for you and you for me the only one.” We’ve all been there, and they know it - this is the sort of song that haunts you in the unpleasant quiet moments.
“Boy Strange” is the album’s only serious misstep - a slab of Bowie-styled guitar pop with production that’s over the top, and not in the pleasant “Well, that’s clever and loud” way I associate with the group. It feels like one of their lesser b-sides. The album’s weakest moment, easily. “In denial,” is a duet with Kylie Minogue - she’s the daughter confronting gay dad Neil about his lifestyle. Outside of one very daft couplet - “You’re in denial / and that is final” - this is an example of fine, funny songwriting and found its way into their musical with Jonathan Harvey, like several other tracks from this record.
I don’t like using the term “gay” to describe something because of the meatheads out there who use “gay” and “retarded” and “stupid” interchangeably. But the penultimate song on Nightlife may well qualify as the Gayest Song Ever. “New York City Boy” is a paeon to the City That Never Sleeps, The Big Apple, The City, and the people who love it. Featuring epic production, sweeping strings, and a chorus straight out of the songbooks of Jacques Morali, this is one of those records that’s incredibly embarassing to love, so you do it privately, where you feels like it’s OK to sing “You feeeeel / the DEAAAAL / is REAAAAL” and not die of shame. (Special note goes to the use of the phrase “eighty-sixed,” a bit of restaurant slang I’ve always loved.)
The album’s finale, “Footsteps,” returns us to the main theme - Neil’s character is in bed, alone and waiting to hear his lover come home from a night of “clubbing.” “As long as I hear your footsteps in the dark / that’s all I need” - this resonates with an experience that I know I’ve experienced and (much to my chagrin) inflicted upon another. This is a typically Pet Shop Boys song - sweet with a sad edge that is unique to the men who scored a 65 and easily placed in The Guardian’s 40 Greatest British Bands Today list. A great album for any season, Nightlife, but it seems to work perfectly in the autumn, much like its predecesser Behaviour.
