Send "Sparks " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Cokemachineglow |
 I refuse to believe Sparks are from Los Angeles, an area of the world renowned for its vapidity, shallowness, and air-headedness. The evidence all points to the contrary: the debt to Gilbert & Sullivan, the playful surrealism, the irony, the wordplay, and, most of all, the humor. No one does funny quite like Sparks. Admittedly, you can giggle at Ween and if you’re thirteen you may get some kicks from Weird Al Yankovic, but Sparks-humor is a horse of very different tooth. They have no fear of throwing in archaic reference points or outlandish situations; it’s a given that the listener will understand. There are very few albums that freewheel from a fugue about the revelry of the Renaissance “Gutenberg is cranking out the Bible with a centerfold” to the loneliness of unwanted male pregnancy in the style of The Nightmare Before Christmas “A wham and bam and thank you sir is all that I would get from her.” This isn’t smut and fart jokes. This is the Dead Parrot Sketch to glam guitars. Woody Allen as a mini-operetta. Talking of which, nothing smacks of Woody as much as “The Director Never Yelled ‘Cut’,” the intimate thoughts of a man being guided through sex like a film director “Got to stay in character, for how long I can’t tell you / And I feel we’re getting closer, though no indication yet.”...full text |
| Dustedmagazine |
| The fraternal Los Angeles dance-pop-opera duo Sparks has existed for 37 years, pretty much within its own bubble. In that time, the Mael brothers have dispatched 21 albums’ worth of smart, catholic, often stunningly original dance-pop-opera, with minimal mainstream compromise or notice. Their production values have substantially escalated, but they’ve maintained their freewheeling dexterity, their Queen-like self-awareness and their hyper-focused humor. Sparks is a career cult band. It’s never had a “Whip It,” or even a “Jocko Homo.” The band’s records invite immersion, Ron and Russell Mael’s intellect is fearless, and their ambitions are inwardly directed. Considering Sparks’ fierce independence, their lyrical neuroses seem exuberantly ironic. Like all of Sparks’ late-period work (with 2006’s Hello Young Lovers being the debatable peak), Exotic Creatures of the Deep is epic in its hang-ups. Beneath its campy, topical cracks (an estranged lover is advised to “Photoshop me out of your life”; Morrissey is advised to “lighten up” so that our shallow protag will have an easier time getting laid), there lies a vast hell of repressed bitterness, sublimated lust and a flaming desperation to be liked. All the things that most pop musicians manifest as unintended absurdity, Sparks channel into cutting satire....full text |
| Musicomh |
| Sparks, with their perpetual air of the unsung hero, are one of those bands with such a copious (and neglected) back catalogue that it becomes the reviewer's duty to mention just how many albums they've released in the very first paragraph of the review. So then: this is album number 21 of an insanely long career. You wouldn't believe it though: after 37 years, Sparks still sound as fresh, relevant and playful as ever. In many ways Exotic Creatures of the Deep is a natural extension of the Mael brothers' creative rebirth beginning with 2003's Lil' Beethoven and 2006's Hello Young Lovers. Those albums combined Ron's synthesised orchestral arrangements with repeated lyrical motifs delivered by an army of multi-tracked Russells, pretty much perfecting the blend of electro-pop and operetta which they've been putting out in various forms since the early '70s. Their recent output has seen them at their lyrical peak too; delivering regular belly laughs but with a depth and thoughtfulness that saves them from the novelty bin....full text |
Sparks lyrics
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