One record at a time: 516. Thomas Dolby - Aliens at my Buick!

I'm not sure I have ever understood this album. Not in the dramatic, "I don’t understand modern art" way, but in the practical, "this music makes me feel like I’m missing the instruction manual" way. The songs are often brilliant, and it was co-produced by Bill Bottrell, so it should have been a straightforward win for my ears. Instead, my ears initially asked for a second opinion and suggested we return to the safer shores of synth-pop.

Part of the issue is that "Aliens Ate My Buick!" does not feel like it is built around a big concept, or even a loose thread you can tug from track to track. "The Golden Age of Wireless" feels focused and "The Flat Earth" has a consistent mood. This one is more like a set of very competent ideas sharing the same postcode. They do not always speak to each other, but they are polite about it.

I think the problem was also the sharp change in musical direction. Dolby, previously known as the friendly neighbourhood tech geek, turns up here leaning hard into funk, reggae, and jazz. It is not a bad idea, but is a very noticeable one. It's a bit like changing your entire wardrobe and then acting surprised when someone sniggers at your kipper tie.

My first encounter with the album was the track "Airhead". It is a funny critique, packed with melody and hooks, and it also managed to confuse me, which is a useful reminder that craft and clarity are not the same thing. I enjoyed it, I replayed it, and then I wondered if I had missed a meeting where everyone agreed what kind of record this was meant to be.

Then there is "Hot Sauce", a funk song written by George Clinton, which sets expectations in a very specific direction. Lyrics like "Smother me in your hot sauce woman," sound strange coming from a politely enunciated Englishman. I cannot decide if this is quietly subversive or simply a mismatch between lyric and delivery. Either way, it is memorable. A bit like being offered a cup of tea by a bouncer.

"Budapest by Blimp" is a wistful epic, and it is about as close to the ‘old Dolby’ as this record gets. Picked guitars and slap bass cosy up to soft vocals before the whole thing suddenly erupts into a full-on funk fest, complete with epic guitar solos and chugging basslines. For some people it is the clear highlight, the one they would point to with the confidence of a man who wears a flat cap whilst mansplaining craft beer. Whilst I like it, it's is not quite my favourite.

Robin Leach’s voice has always grated on me, and I never watched any of the glossy television programmes he was associated with, so "The Key to Her Ferrari" initially left me rather cold. But if you judge Dolby at face value, you miss what he is doing. He likes the satire, the wink, and the little gap where you can supply your own meaning. If your meaning is "this is not for me", that is also valid.

My copy is a clear limited edition Music on Vinyl pressing from 2025, and it sounds excellent. Clean, punchy, and detailed enough to reward close listening without demanding it. It is worth spending time with this record. Eventually, it starts to make sense, or at least you stop needing it to. 2.5/5