Back to Basics

Which in The Divine Comedy's case means less rock, more baroque.

by Sam Adams

Northern Irish Protestants have a way of being more English than the English; walk around Belfast, and you could swear you’ve slipped off to some hitherto undiscovered corner of Epcot Center devoted to warm beer and cold sausages. The son of an Anglican bishop, The Divine Comedy’s Neil Hannon has made half a dozen albums of elaborate, sometimes deliberately overwrought, chamber pop with tongue deeply in cheek (“cheek” being the operative word), both embodying the English tradition of suave, endlessly literate ditties and goosing it up with a dollop of heavy irony. (Think Gosford Park’s Ivor Novello crossed with Morrissey on a grumpy day.) When the band — which, truth be told, has always been Hannon and whomever he woke up next to that day — were called on to contribute to a Noel Coward tribute record, Hannon responded not with an effortless Coward pastiche, but with a blaring house music version of “I’ve Been to a Marvellous Party,” a conceptual coup if not an artistic one. Pigeonhole us not.

That being the case, last year’s Regeneration (released here only after much delay) was a surprise and a disappointment. The recently married Hannon had grown out his Friar Tuck bangs, ditched his trademark suits, and started insisting that The Divine Comedy was, after all, a band. The album artwork featured a seven-piece ensemble standing backs to the camera, while the first video was heavy on performance footage, the better to point out that, hey, these geezers could play. Then, of course, they broke up.

When Hannon touched ground in New York earlier this year, it was with an entirely new backing trio, and he spent months opening for Ben Folds as a solo act under The Divine Comedy banner. Now he’s back in town, trio in tow, for The Divine Comedy’s first full-on Philadelphia show in ages, if not forever. The fact that Hannon isn’t ranked on a par with Stephin Merritt is a sin of omission, due more to cultural prejudices than careful analysis, or perhaps the fact that it’s easier to swallow Cole Porter than Scott Walker. And if he winces at some of his old wordplay (particularly “Gin Soaked Boy,” which manages to work the phrase “I’m Jeff Goldblum in The Fly” into a love song), he’s seen the error in getting too sincere. Back in the studio with longtime orchestrator Joby Talbot, Hannon promises: no more bands. “It’s like trying to make a marriage work,” he says. “Once you try to fix it, it’s already broken.”

The Divine Comedy plays Mon., Nov. 11, 9 p.m., $10, with Adam Arcuragi, North Star, 27th and Poplar sts., 215-684-0808.