One need only look at the song titles to see that frontman Andy Falkous has lost little of his manic wit and rumble. Lead off kickstarter “Arming Eritrea,” with it’s blues riff instantly morphing into a monstrous growl and addressed to “Rick” (straight from Falkous’s naming names songwriter school) lurches and grinds against the shouted “I’m an adult” punctuation. It would feel right at home on any of his precious collections of giggles and bile, from FOTL’s “Curses” to the full McLusky output. The only signifier of progress is the humorous attention paid to Eritrea as the cause of the moment. “Chin Music” keeps the throttle to the floor soon after, seeming to signify that progress is for pussies.
“The Hope That House Built” showcases a bludgeoning stomp and the astonishing ability to twist words lacking in musical phrasing into massively enjoyable sing/shout-a-longs. It has always been Falkous’s main strength to provide music that appeals directly to the 15 year-old that wants to thrash about the room while teasing the brainpower of those several decades older. That the band does so with intertwined vocals from rough voiced players only adds to the joy in joining in at the top of your sandpapered lungs.
“Throwing Bricks At Trains” allows drummer Jack Egglestone’s mix of sublime and ball-shaking (the very core of the thrill in these songs) to snap and crackle all about with twisting precision while Falkous and bassist Kelson Louis Matthias come and go in stilted fashion – like Blink 182 playing in the pits of hell for a banquet of cheaters and robber barons. The lyrics run thick with poignant moments and outright beer-spitting juvenile hysterics. Falkous at his best.
That sweet and sour mix quickly grips “I Am Civil Service” with it’s “if I eat what I fuck, and I fuck what I eat, am I worthy?” line of questioning. However, the lyrics are the strong point by the middle portion of the album as “Land Of My Formers” just buzzsaws through to little effect. “You Need Satan More Than He Needs You” brings on more buckets of dry wit and a shitload of thumping drums, but doesn’t fully pull itself out of the mire. I find myself longing for those lighter – well lighter by Falkous’s standards – songs that he does so well. In fact, one of my main disappointments with this record is the lack of those hidden gems tossed between the thrash or buried at the end of the records such as bonus tracks like “The Big Wide O,” which I had hoped pointed the way from “Curses” to where the group was headed.
Instead I get the crunchtastic guitar of “That Damned Fly” and the muscled up garage anthem “Stand By Your Manatee.” Its hard to argue with how well the trio punch out these under three minute bursts of dark energy swirled around unique subject matter, like a family only using plastic cutlery and all it’s connotations, but I suppose I am just an asshole who always wants more.
“Yin/Post-Yin” jitters all about, spilling tales of flying dinosaurs and their suffering at the hands of doubters as they attend college and spout engineering feats with ease while the white man gets all the glory. Maybe I am an asshole. I am certainly white. Can’t I just have fun and not labor over what isn’t here and enjoy what is???
What is left is a Dismemberment Plan castoff with “Drink Nike” with it’s funny “lalala” ingeniously worked into “swallow swallow swallow” and then what I needed so badly in the middle of the onslaught: “Lapsed Catholics” talk-singing it’s funny monologue and refrains over nervous acoustic guitar like Metallica trying to cover the Field Mice. Of course it all gives in and the band kicks the shit out of the tune but they never lose their grip on the pop hook that the guitar figure left lingering earlier.
It makes it painfully obvious that Falkous and crew can dish out popsmarts at will and find it oh so boring to do so. His lyrics do everything but ensure no commercial property will touch them and I don’t begrudge him the liberty. However, that’s not to say they haven’t found a jarring middle ground where their originality can truly shine like a diamond scratching your cornea (such as “Curses” killer “Manchasm”) that never really emerges here.
It’s good and sometimes it’s great and it really should be enough – but it’s not.
I can already hear the half-joking “John Foster is a prick who just can’t be satisfied” chorus before spinning a tale of emasculation on the next record…
Image from the Future Of The Left flickr group
john, what do you think of the cover?
June 23, 2009 at 2:55 pmI’m biased b/c I’m still basking in fury of their SXSW performance but I have nothing but love for the new album. I’m still discovering lyrics that make me laugh and loving each wrecking-ball riff.
June 23, 2009 at 3:14 pmI don’t have a hard copy yet but the cover is by Michael Byzewski who is one half of Minneapolis-based Aesthetic Apparatus who are aces in my book. Heavy old sci fi influence but not a bad thing.
I feel guilty complaining at all about a record that is pretty damn bone-crushingly good and had Falkous never played those hands I likely wouldn’t miss them – but it’s just not the case. Maybe I’m just like my mother (she’s never satisfied.)
June 23, 2009 at 4:10 pm
“John Foster was wrong…”
June 23, 2009 at 2:34 pm