Jonny Telafone casts himself as the tragic victim for his official debut album, Romeo Must Cry. The cover, with tones of ‘90s hardcore techno sleeve art, is a negative portrait set against a glitchy urban cityscape with a blood red sky. This suggests Telafone’s anxieties are as much about the oncoming apocalypse as they are about tragic matters of the heart.
On the surface, this is a sad album drenched in tears. But, in light of the musician’s hat-swapping capabilities and eye-opening live shows, you suspect this is all a facade; an excuse to pull back his more extreme side and relish diving into some ‘80s electro ballads with a dash of goth-pop bleakness. There’s a mysterious, creepy element in the shadows of these sad songs, like he’s manipulating you to feel sorry for him with all of the ersatz elements at his disposal. You connect to him but it’s an uneasy alliance.
On the back of Chapter Music’s 2012 compilation of past digital and cassette recordings, Romeo Must Cry reveals a toned-down, smoothed-out Telafone, but he’s still an acquired taste. His masterstroke is the atmospheric second song, The Prayer – the rest of the album is good, but doesn’t quite nail it like that one track. Still, after the randomness of his collected works, it’s satisfying to hear his industrial ballads given some focus and a cohesive theme in an old-school album format. Romeo Must Cry is an eerily romantic plea into the gaping void of nothingness and it’s a weirdly inviting prospect to watch it all burn down with him.
BY CHRIS GIRDLER
