World of Our Own: Westlife’s boldest work so far

Three years ago, the sales clerks at Radio City were practically forcing Westlife’s first single on me. The cassette was cheap, and the CD came with a free poster and a Westlife backpack. Nobody in Asia had heard of the Irish group then, but a pen pal of mine in the U.K. had warned me months ahead that Westlife (then called Westside) was going to be the next boy band sensation. Why? "Because all of the boys are cute, all of them sing, and they have the backing of one Ronan Keating."

She was right. Outside the United States, across Europe and Asia, Westlife is arguably the most popular boy band today, surpassing even its predecessor Boyzone. In only three years, it has produced an unprecedented string of nine number one songs. It has also topped practically every poll and popularity contest. (Most recently, the boys received a couple of Disney Kid’s Awards.) The Philippines has not been spared. When the boys came to town earlier this year, they filled every seat in the house – no mean feat, considering that the concert was held on a weekday. In fact, the concert was the only non-weekend event to get sold-out in the history of the Araneta Coliseum.

Three years of touring, recording, and more touring, however, have apparently taken their toll. World of Our Own, the third album from the boys, has less of the innocence that gave their debut album its charm. The boys sound a little tired, a little jaded, a little "insincere." They give the impression that the album is just another day’s work, although it is professionally polished work. While the vocal arrangements in this collection are more exacting and hence, more exciting, the voices show signs of deterioration – cracks in what was unblemished crystal. Shane Filan is noticeably hoarse, his tapestry of a voice apparently frayed along the edges. Mark Feehily’s upper register, though still resonant for the most part, is on the brink of tottering, while Bryan McFadden’s low notes have never sounded throatier (or toadier).

Such flaws, however, are not in themselves lamentable; they can and, in fact, are used to the boys’ advantage. The huskiness makes Filan sound like a junior Smokey Robinson. As long as voice doesn’t completely give way to the rasp, he may have just raised this vocal value. The popular imagination identifies blemish with character: think of the gnarled hands of Hemingway’s Santiago, the sar of Odysseus, or closer to the topic, the tortured vibrato of the later Judy Garland. These boys carry pleasant tunes with evident pain, as to tell our imagination, "I am human. I am breaking, but I smile for you, I sing for you. See what sacrifices I make to please you." This is the sauce that sours the sweet and flavors the dish, and for some people nothing is more disarming than an imperfection that tells a story.

If it is doubtful whether (World of Our Own) would be as popular as Westlife’s previous albums, it is certain at least that it is the band’s boldest work so far. For one, while there is still the obligatory remake, the choice is an unusual one: Sarah McLachlan’s Angel. This is no bouncy Uptown Girl, but a low-key univocal number with a theme somewhat too somber for sunny boy bands. Filan’s "battered" voice is put to good use, conveying, as a "purer" voice could not, the sense of both world-weariness and calm after strife: think of old Santiago again dreaming of lions after his struggle at sea or Odysseus landing in Ithaka after years of warfare abroad.

Another plus is that the boys wrote some of the songs themselves. Two are worth mentioning: Imaginary Diva by Nicky Byrne, Kian Egan, and the band’s own "diva" Feehily, and Bop Bop Baby by McFadden and Filan. The first sounds like an outtake from Stevie Wonder’s Superstition. The last, echoing Take That’s Pray, is the most infectious tune in the album. The boys are nowhere near Cole Porter, whose one pun in Begin the Beguine is worth all the boys’ effusions (e.g., "I wanna grow old with you/I wanna die lying in your arms," etc.). They know enough of the formulas, however, to churn out tunes honeyed and hummable.

The best songs are not theirs: the title track World of Our Own – upbeat, jazzy, refreshing – which might win Westlife a few new fans and even respectability; To Be Loved, the equivalent of Flying Without Wings; Queen of My Heart, the current single, and Angel. The last two, which frame the entire collection, make for an interesting Marian (over) reading, what with Christmas round the corner, the war ongoing in the Middle East, and the boys being Catholic – a Let It Be reinscribed for today’s boy band.

But as expected, the album provides folder for critics, for many of the songs sound like overruns from the ACME Boy Band Factory. Compare:

1. Why Do I Love You and Stay by Stephen Gately

2. When You Come Around and Keep on Moving by Five

3. If Your Heart’s Not In It and This I Promise You by N’Sync

4. I Wanna Grow Old With You and Anywhere for You by the Backstreet Boys

5. Don’t Say It’s Too Late and Practically Anything by Michael Learns To Rock

The list is not exhaustive, and game shows being so popular today, listeners could very well play a round of Name That Tune – a fact that renders the title of the album, World of Our Own, absurd. The overall impression is less that of founding a "brave new world" than that of annexing so many little-boy territories for the Synthetic Synthesizer Empire – more United Colors of Benetton than United Nations.

All told, however, this is one album that sales clerks need not push on consumers and that fans won’t regret buying. Westlife’s is a green world, but not quite like what a poet, whom the boys surely know, once imagined. "I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,/ And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made."