A lack of democracy and asset-sharing has sunk many a band, never mind a boy band. Ultimately, the vast bulk of Midnight Memories remains emotionally charged rather than carnally inclined, with not a soupon of R&B anywhere and. What's really significant, though, is that the band are now co-writing greater swaths of their material, and that Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne and Niall Horan are getting more time on the mic. Ultimately, the vast bulk of Midnight Memories remains emotionally charged rather than carnally inclined, with not a soupçon of R&B anywhere and love songs galore.
Given how Miley Cyrus has handled her transition from teen star to adult material, all eyes are on how these 20-nothing pop powerhouses manage their progression from pecks on the cheeks to kissing with tongues, from scallywaggery to manhood. The catchy Diana, meanwhile, is a naked rewrite of at least three songs of some vintage, not least Don't Stand So Close to Me. Most Directioners will already have heard the Mumfords-inspired Story of My Life, in which some sort of romantic contretemps finds the boys in a darkroom in the video, developing photographs (a mysterious practice that may have to be explained to their fanbase). Here, this new taste for Def Leppard comes tempered with some even more grown-up fare: a Mumfords nod, a Police tribute and a flaccid one co-written by Snow Patrol's Gary Lightbody (Something Great). Lady Gaga struggled a bit to carry off such a major pop-to-rock volte-face on Born This Way, but one of the theories about why Katy Perry is doing so well has something to do with her propensity for guitars. Its dynamics seem to be targeting some notional American heartland at least 30 years older than 1D's fanbase. And yet that doesn't quite prepare you for the extended soft-rock passages, the Joan Jett-ish thrust of Zayn Malik's Does He Know? or the sheer Van Halen-like bombast of the title track, one of two touring-band anthems ("Way too many people in the Addison Lee!"). The band forecast that Midnight Memories would be "rockier" than their previous efforts, which have largely cleaved fairly close to the bright'n'breezy Swedish school of pop-plus-doe-eyed balladry. (And what does Louis Tomlinson actually mean when, on Happily, he asks his ex whether her new boyfriend "feels his traces" in her hair?)Īdmitting the existence of sex is not the only overt sign of looming maturity on One Direction's third album in three heady years, one that looks certain to cement them as a global phenomenon. Poodle-rock guitars complete the picture of band slipping their hands out of yours and into their trouser pockets. "I wanna see the way you move for me, baby," it goes, as goaty a lyric as these nice boys have ever essayed. On Little Black Dress, One Direction turn from excellent boyfriend material – caring, devoted, well turned out, easily hurt – to something more akin to one-night-standees. Then there is the small matter of the vanilla leering, which takes place on the main album.
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