Posts tagged: punk

Two Gallants – Ride Away

By , November 8, 2012 10:00 am

San Francisco lo-fi duo Two Gallants have been cruising along just fine with their brand of punk-tinged folk-rock, releasing three excellent albums on indie mainstay Saddle Creek before relocating to ATO Records for album number 4, the recently-released The Bloom and the Blight. A track like “Ride Away” is a fine example of the pair’s overall aesthetic, running Adam Stephen’s guitar ragged and highlighting his throaty, powerful vocals and Tyson Vogel’s pounding drums. The apocalyptic imagery and general dusty, campfire tone imbue everything here, planting Two Gallants and The Bloom and the Blight firmly in Americana territory with an outlaw bite. 

Two Gallants – “Ride Away”

…And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead – Lost Songs

By , October 24, 2012 10:00 am

…And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead – Lost Songs

Richter Scale 2012

Rating: 8/10

It’s really a magnificent feeling when things just come together, when everything runs smoothly and without complications. When things just go right. For alternative pariahs …And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead, the past decade since 2002’s seminal Source Tags & Codes has been one long question mark, a series of stops and starts and things generally not going all that right that has been as frustrating as it has been occasionally inspiring (see: ex-guitarist Kevin Allen destroying thousands of dollars worth of electronics after losing at Guitar Hero in an Austin, TX bar). Albums like So Divided and The Century of Self were the aural equivalents of watching a movie with your friends that you’ve seen before and have hyped up as endlessly funny, like, the comedy of the year, man, and then for the next hour and a half you keep glancing sideways at them across the couch, waiting for a laugh, any laugh, hell even a smile would be nice, and before you know it the movie is over and your credibility is shot. Tao of the Dead was a nice progression, something with a purpose, but even as it went where it wanted to go without flying (too far) off the rails it was still trapped in that prog-rock dick-measuring contest the band has seemed trapped in for years, the kind that leads to 16-minute-plus songs the band calls “suites” without an ounce of self-consciousness. It’s a welcome respite, then, to see Trail of Dead take that focus and file it down to a sharp, angry blast of guitar-centric rock, with barely a song over five minutes in sight.

There’s no convoluted intro here, no self-referential Mayan death-chants or sweeping orchestral arrangements. The closest they get is the skittering jabs of guitar and foreboding phaser swell of “Open Doors” and a click-clack drum rhythm that sets the tribal pattern for much of the record. Then they fire up that guitar riff and everything, all the overwhelming production and space-age mysticism and the extraneous shit that cluttered up everything before is laid bare and with it comes a piercing clarity, that all this band needs to do is turn those guitars up to eleven and go forth. “Open Doors” is the most straightforward, brutal song the band has recorded since “It Was There That I Saw You” bloodied the opening of Source Tags & Codes. It’s compelling and cathartic in a way much of the band’s material has only pretended to be, cycling up through its verse and chorus higher and louder with a mindless simplicity that is shocking in all the right ways. Then comes “Pinhole Cameras,” and instead of an interlude there’s a thunderous four-bar intro and then the idling guitars rev up, the drum pattern goes into double-time and we’re off once again.

Lost Songs is likely the band’s harshest work since 1999’s Madonna, and while it doesn’t have the kind of epic interlocking parts that made Source Tag & Codes an art-rock classic, it seems like a renewed start for bandleaders Conrad Keely and Jason Reece. Keely has said in interviews that this album was inspired by real world events and, in a callback to their punk roots, is the band’s attempt to draw more attention to these issues. Obvious case in point, first single “Up To Infinity,” criticizes the Syrian civil war in stark, black-and-white terms alongside a classic Trail of Dead structure, building up the song only to break it back down via a scorching guitar riff, mangled by feedback and pissed off screams. Keely’s very “cynical indie musician” politicizing can tend to grate; the problem with lyrical sermonizing, especially with a band as heart-on-their-sleeve as Trail of Dead, is the potential to sound at turns uncomfortably blustery (“Catatonic”) and at others hopelessly clumsy (“Flower Card Games”). But the motivation is commendable, and succeeds in making Lost Songs an urgent, flammable piece of post-hardcore. Standout track “Opera Obscura” is a fine example of refining the band’s strengths while excising all the bloat that tended to find its way around Trail of Dead songs in the recent past. Reece’s frenetic drumming lays the groundwork for an ominous chainsaw of a riff that ratchets its way into the mix with a single-minded ferocity before Keely’s primal howl lets it all fade back to those solitary, syncopated drums again. The riff starts up again, louder and wilder, and when that guitar finally peters out like an overtaxed engine after a dizzying ride, it’s a bit of a surprise to find that less than four minutes have passed.

If there are nits to be picked, it’s with Lost Songs’ almost unwavering determination to pummel you into submission with its single-minded brand of relentless, wall-of-sound songwriting, a singularly passionate yet occasionally destructive approach. It’s something that starts to rub one raw right around the time Reece is screaming himself ragged on “A Place To Rest” (which, in a nod to their prog side, seem to be about Game of Thrones), and while “Catatonic” stands out for its sheer energy and that ascendant guitar solo, the second half of the album tends to bleed together, one vicious riff and thudding tom after another. The title track and closing song “Time And Again” are the only songs here that let up on the pedal even a bit, and both beg to be developed more than their short run times allow. That latter song, in particular, is just as affecting and emotionally honest a song as any the band has written, its geniality all the more surprising given the debilitating beatdown administered over the previous eleven tracks, but its frothy fingerpicking melody, a pleasantly surprising ostinato in treble, and that convivial bass line end far too soon.

The thing is, Lost Songs isn’t anything the band hasn’t successfully pulled off before, and many would say better. There’s something to be said, however, for Keely and Reece taking the passion that has always been there, perhaps hidden under segues and themes and suites, and placing it unapologetically front and center. Lost Songs is brash sincere, a caterwauling beast of chunky guitar chords and drums that never give you a chance to breathe, and in its best moments is as fiery and hot-blooded and rousing as anything off those earlier albums fans are always pining for. Perhaps it’s not yet a complete return, but Trail of Dead sound anything but lost.

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Titus Andronicus – Local Business

By , October 18, 2012 10:00 am

Titus Andronicus – Local Business

XL Recordings 2012

Rating: 8/10

As far as self-professed nihilists go, Titus Andronicus are the dingiest, the booziest, the most completely aware, revelling in their shit-stained universe like a technicolour dreamcoat of worthlessness. Local Business, their third album, comes essentially defined as an album of meaningless Replacements rock ‘n’ roll, beginning by celebrating resentment like the gang bumped into Michel Foucault ‘round the corner and decided there’s no escaping the bitter, repressive pill that is life. “I think by now we’ve established that everything is inherently worthless and there is nothing in the universe with any kind of objective purpose,” Stickles sings, like a song to self, a declaration that, after building up nothing and battling with it like an actual fucking civil war, there’s little to do but sit in the squalor and smile. If you’re worried that Local Business serves you little, that it’s quaint, short, lacking concept- that it’s not punk rock through a practical, patterned lense- who could blame you? This is a band who named themselves after a big bloody play, who made something so monumental in The Monitor that they can probably never come down from it. The aftermath, this, the jittery one-punch Local Business, is practically a joke.

What Local Business entails though, in all its dramatic-comedy borderlines, is that age-old poetical cliché, as made famous, presumably, by melodramatic Facebook pages: behind every joke there’s a layer of truth, or, in Stickes’ case, behind every joke there’s a man throwing his life away, or having it wrecked by a manipulative universe going nowhere. Local Business feels like a far more accepting record of its neuroses than The Monitor; the gang-vocals are sillier, less taglines to mission statements and more pantomimic jingles. “Food Fight!” is a joke before the dark wave of “My Eating Disorder,” and “Titus Andronicus VS The Absurd Universe” is two minutes of a band rocking out as a quintet for the frills. From a band who tagged a nine minute song with chants of “It’s still us against them and they’re winning!” Titus Andronicus seem, on Local Business to be treating their aphorisms with a sense of silly: no longer incredulous, drunk and confused by the universe, Local Business is a messy, bizarre account of things Stickles and co. know they will never really understand. And so yes, “Food Fight!” is the silliest thing he’s recorded with this band, all chants and tuneless harmonicas where your nine minute epic should be, but “My Eating Disorder,” washes over it like a dark, dark wave, a list of pains and struggles that can only be explained in their processes, and not the reasons why or even an attempt to find them.

“In a Big City,” the most distinctly anthemic song in Stickles’ career, seems to make a fair point about him and his band- if it sounds like they’ve changed on Local Business, become more closed off and wackier by eliminating all the recurring players on The Monitor, at least they’re always this band, one talking about what it is to be an awful (average!) human among a load of others with grass greener: “I grew up on one side of the river / I was a disturbed dangerous drifter / moved to the other side of the river / now I’m a drop in a deluge of hipsters.” A song like this has more levity than those that came before it, but none of the weight is shed; Titus Andronicus is still a band feeling this all quite heavily, even if a joke can spare their troubles. Hell, it’s not as if you can reject any of these songs on the basis of the band’s ability to shoot them loud and proud, not even “(I Am The) Electric Man,” another piece of look-behind-you! pantomime gold, played sweetly and comically but ever so profoundly. Titus Andronicus rollick through this album, saying what they feel they need to and occasionally a few other dumb things, but never insincerely. Less wide-eyed Springsteen and more weird scratchy Replacements is the verdict. Really, it’s more meaninglessness in meaningful songs.

Local Business ends with another long, meandering send-off about the discovery of shame, as was the long journey of “The Battle of Hampton Roads.” Unlike its predecessor, though, “Tried to Quit Smoking” is the work of the same sad-sac in resigned slacker mode, easy to imagine lying slouched in an armchair with the guitar pressed up close, humming high lyrics that are excuses for all the bad times (“it’s not that I wanted to hurt you, I just didn’t care if I did”). Local Business feels as pressed with adrenaline through its run as the albums before it, but this final indictment of meaningless life is as vitally summative of the album as anything else, a stony acceptance of what’s happened and a hundred justifications lacked. There are enough lyrics in their world to tell you that a Titus Andronicus record isn’t as much medicine for bad times as it is a time to grieve and grin, and so Local Business may not look up to the sky like The Monitor did, but there’s no denying this is the same band, done searching, perhaps, but rocking out to the persuasion of pointlessness. “There’s nothing for me to do now but turn the radio up loud, put Eric’s sunglasses back on and black it out.” Just five guys, hangin’ out and relaying basic philosophical arguments about nothingness. Blast it loud.

While the first two albums were elaborate concoctions, Local Business is of the earth. Titus Andronicus the studious recording project and Titus Andronicus the raucous touring machine are no longer two distinct beings; there is only Titus Andronicus, rock and roll band. This is to say, it was recorded primarily live with precious few overdubs, with an elite squad of musicians.
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The Gaslight Anthem – Too Much Blood

By , July 30, 2012 10:00 am

New Jersey punk band/Bruce Springsteen worshippers (contractually obligated to refer to the Boss re: the Gaslight Anthem) just released their fourth album, Handwritten, last week. That classic bar band attitude is still well in evidence here, but it’s tinged with stronger, more confident songwriting than 2010′s lackluster American Slang. An anthem like album centerpiece “Too Much Blood” would have fit nicely on high-water mark The ’59 Sound, and frontman Brian Fallon has rarely sounded so good, so in control as he does throughout most of this album. RIYL: America.

The Gaslight Anthem – “Too Much Blood”

HANDWRITTEN, The Gaslight Anthem s first album on Mercury Records, was produced by two-time Grammy Award winner Brendan O Brien, known for his work with Bruce Springsteen, Pearl Jam, Incubus, and many others. Prior to HANDWRITTEN, The Gaslight Anthem released three full-length indie albums to date, Sink Or Swim, The 59 Sound and American Slang. With tons of critical raves, The Gaslight Anthem has won strong and loyal followings across the U.S., Japan, and especially in the UK. In the U.S., hundreds of thousands of festival goers have seen The Gaslight Anthem on the stages of Lollapalooza, Bonnaroo and Coachella.
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The Hives – Lex Hives

By , June 7, 2012 10:00 am

The Hives – Lex Hives

Disque Hives 2012

Rating: 5/10

For all their talk of being rock’s saviors and how the industry is more about “middle-class guilt and whining” then balls-to-the-wall guitar guts and glory, the Hives are about as status quo as anything in music today, particularly if you think that the power chord and Rocket to Russia are the pinnacles of music achievement in the 20th century. Lex Hives is a warm and comforting security blanket for garage rock fans anxious to turn off those scary new sounds on the radio and embrace the past, and in this respect it’s little different from any of the Hives previous four albums. Given how resistant the band is to change, 2007’s The Black and White Album, which veered dangerously close to *gasp* experimentation, was practically a seismic shift in tone for the band. Lex Hives does away with the newfangled production that they tried out with that record and returns to their roots – a shameless sugar rush of fist-pumping, bass-stomping, garage rock ‘n roll.

So, no one should be surprised when the opening track has a title that encompasses the entire lyric, one which Howlin’ (a well-earned moniker) Pelle Almqvist sings with the abandon of someone who fervently believes that he is the one true savior of rock ‘n roll. It’s refreshing, in a way – Almqvist really gives it his all throughout Lex Hives, nearly to the point of exhaustion, and the band’s shtick, in a vacuum, is just as joyously energetic and unrepressed as it was when they helped ignite the garage resurgence in the early ‘00s. The band’s unerring consistency, though, is also their curse – “1000 Answers,” “Go Right Ahead,” “Wait A Minute,” “If I Had A Cent,” take your pick; all of these could have slotted in without a hitch on Veni Vidi Vicious or Tyrannosaurus Hives.

In that sense, Lex Hives is sort of sad – the band, dressed up in their trademark matching tuxedoes, wailing away on guitar and banging the ever loving crap out of Chris Dangerous’ drum set, Pelle Almqvist emceeing the wildest party he’s ever thrown (ever! He reassures the audience), but the joke’s on them: the party ended long ago and they’re playing to a room of disinterested twenty-somethings with vague memories of “Hate to Say I Told You So” bouncing about in their heads, muscle memory the only thing keeping them going. It’s nostalgic, sure, but it’s just as effective as an album of covers of old Ramones songs that everyone puts on the jukebox from time to time. The songs themselves almost feel like covers, stale renditions filled with buzz saw guitars and tired punk gusto, overplayed over the course of a thirty-minute album that only lets up on the gas pedal with the drunken karaoke sing-along of “Without The Money.” “Go Right Ahead” is a pretty perfect single, in the context of a Hives song – that chorus that just begs to be shouted by every member of the audience, the stop-start drum pattern, the gang vocals all combining into what is the quintessential distillation of what the Hives are all about. Yet, once you’ve heard it, you know that’s what you’re in for with the rest of Lex Hives. The fun fades and the tracks become more taxing, the focus less on the music and more on wondering how Almqvist manages to still keep his voice in such great shape.

“You gotta go from A to Z from when you’re born until you’re dead,” Almqvist sings on “Go Right Ahead,” but he’s singing about something he knows nothing about – the Hives have always been at point A, hammering home their mission on album to album with deadening regularity and the senseless vigor of overage clubbers who don’t know when to get on with their lives. They’ve always prided themselves on being louder, faster, more quick-witted than their contemporaries, but at this point in their career, with their sound becoming a retread of their own, not exactly original, old material, they’re very much in danger of becoming a loudmouthed parody of themselves: still the image of middle-finger-in-the-air rockers but all affected posturing and self-mythologizing, blustery and entirely inconsequential. Rumors of punk’s demise may be exaggerated, but perhaps someone should tell Almqvist and company that it’s long over for them.

The world's wisest musical council and international rock sensation, The Hives, present their fifth stunner- the 12-track contemplation of all law that is Hives-- Lex Hives. Self-produced, self-played and self-promoted, these 12 songs are not built to fit just anyone. These are not songs that sound equally good played on an acoustic guitar by the campfire. This is not music. This is compressed carbon hidden in the earth's crust for millions of years and unearthed, to be placed in your eardrums. Blistering proof can be found with the lead single, "Go Right Ahead."
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Japandroids – Fire’s Highway

By , May 1, 2012 10:00 am

Punk rockers/heavy beer drinkers Japandroids are inching closer to the release of their sophomore effort Celebration Rock, the follow-up to 2009 zeitgeist and homage to youth and bad/good decisions Post-Nothing. If I’m being cynical, one listen to the album and a highlight like “Fire’s Highway” (and previous 2010 single and addition here, “Younger Us”) makes it clear that nothing’s really changed for these Vancouver-based firebrands. The beer is still eternally cold; the girls are still eternally carefree and wild; youth is still something to be treasured rather than grieved over. So it’s more of the same, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing – few do 21st-century anthems better than these guys, and if you liked Post-Nothing, three years is more than long enough to wait to satisfy a craving for balls-out, fist-pumping rock ‘n roll.

Japandroids – “Fire’s Highway”

This is the long-awaited, follow up to 2009's Post-Nothing. Celebration Rock is well balanced with a much bigger sound and showcases the band's growth as songwriters. Songs like "Evil's Sway" and "The House That Heaven Built" prove that the Vancouver duo has more than staying power with this sophomore release.
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Japandroids – The House That Heaven Built

By , March 28, 2012 10:00 am

New Japandroids album comes out June 5th and is tentatively titled Celebration Rock. Did you like their debut, the stellar, balls-to-the-wall punk of Post-Nothing? Do you like youth? Lust? Guitars fuzzed out and turned up to a wonderfully screeching 11? Of course you do, and if you didn’t, this track just may change your mind.

The Men – Candy

By , March 7, 2012 10:00 am

Brooklyn quartet The Men blew up the blogosphere last year with the under-the-radar, endlessly hyped Leave Home, a taut, pounding reaffirmation of punk’s viability in the modern age that succeeded where similarly minded bands (see: Iceage) failed. Capitalizing on the hype, the group released Open Your Heart yesterday, and it’s another predictably virulent punk-rock guitar assault, amps generously at 11 and hoarse vocals the order of the day, but there’s a softer side to things here, less DIY and more carefully textured and arranged. It makes for a much more varied record and sound, no more evident than in the poppy, Wilco-esque “Candy.” RIYL: Japandroids, Women, loud guitars, Dinosaur Jr.

The Men – “Candy”

Ironically referred to by Timeout NY as "Thurston Moore & the E Street Band," The Men have never been a band to play by categorical punk subgenre rules. Instead, over the last three years, this band has dabbled in everything from hardcore punk to psych to shoegaze to black metal; and they have done all of it effortlessly, and for the most part, flawlessly. Totally removed from the current climate of a.d.d-youtube-blog-hyped generation of musicians under 21, The Men stand out from the pack as both scene elders and actual record collectors.
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Cloud Nothings – Fall In

By , January 24, 2012 10:00 am

Along with the new (incredibly weird) of Montreal record, Cloud Nothings‘ surprising sophomore effort Attack on Memory has racked up the most listens in my iTunes in 2012. It’s an eight-song burst of noise rock, healthy layers of fuzz and Dylan Baldi’s ragged yelp masking some seriously strong pop hooks. Their debut, which dropped at the beginning of last year, didn’t really make an impression on me, but the band’s growth to songwriting of a substantial, lasting quality is quite noticeable here. Given Pitchfork’s recent Best-New-Music-ing of them and the goodwill buzz they’ve been building up since last year, it’s quite obvious this is the best thing Cleveland’s had to offer in years…

Cloud Nothings – “Fall In”

Bonus MP3: Nifty little garage-rock instrumental: Cloud Nothings – “Separation”

Wild Flag – Romance

By , October 13, 2011 12:00 pm

Wild Flag are that rarest of breeds – a supergroup that doesn’t suck. A supergroup composed entirely of female rockers is even more extraordinary, but when two of your members hail from now-defunct punk legends Sleater-Kinney, maybe Wild Flag’s surprising excellence isn’t all that surprising. Along with members from Helium and the Minders, Wild Flag play a brand of cheery power-pop with a snotty edge heavy in propulsive, punk influenced guitar lines. It’s more generally more accessible than any of the aforementioned projects, but the songwriting is just as strong as anything Sleater-Kinney put down. RIYL girl-group harmonies, power chords, anthems.

Wild Flag – “Romance”

Wugazi – Sleep Rules Everything Around Me

By , July 14, 2011 10:00 am

Coolest mashup idea I’ve heard in a while coming from two Midwestern producers, mixing choice songs from punk/hardcore legends Fugazi with classic Wu-Tang Clan tracks, similar to wait what’s Biggie vs. the xx project from last year. “Sleep Rules Everything Around Me” takes Fugazi’s acoustic “I’m So Tired” from the Instrument soundtrack and throws it under “C.R.E.A.M.” It’s a great take on two huge groups and the way the tracks meld together is fairly astonishing. Download the whole album for free at the band’s website or just click the link below.

Wugazi – “Sleep Rules Everything Around Me”

Vivian Girls – Share the Joy

By , April 12, 2011 8:00 am

Vivian Girls – Share the Joy

Polyvinyl 2011

Rating: 8/10

With the rest of Share the Joy still to come, “The Other Girls” raises some serious questions about Vivian Girls. Or maybe it just makes us smirk- a line as forward as “I don’t wanna be like the other girls” spouted first-thing on the newest record from one of many fuzz-pop, all-female bands is gonna do just that, isn’t it? It feels sort of like a direct nod to all the stuff that went down last year in this genre, whether it was Dum Dum Girls, Best Coast or the ever-boyish Wavves, like an adamant refusal to be tagged in a genre where it’s becoming all too easy to be one or another.

It reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend who asked me, “why Vivian Girls? They’re women!” and, well, you can imagine how I rose my all too indie eyebrow and responded no, Women released Public Strain. Not that I lent that record to explain, but this outburst of geekery is the sad truth; all this fuzzy stuff got more and more diluted to the point where we forgot where Vivian Girls stood. Their last studio album surfaced just as the fuzz-revival craze well and truly hit off, and with that little teasing line kick-starting their time in 2011, it feels foolish to forget how Vivian Girls are kind of seniors in this genre. As much as one can be a senior after three years of records, right?

Even if, in all honesty, they don’t act like seniors. Nor do they seem to dislike any of the bands around them the way “The Other Girls” might imply on paper. The song is nothing but pleasant, and more so because it doesn’t have any of the biting noise we’d get with Vivian Girls or Everything Goes Wrong. It sounds as it should: a nice way of the trio announcing that there can be a song like “Where Do You Run To” without the stigma that surrounds it. “The Other Girls” is a relief to anyone who couldn’t quite get to grips with Vivian Girls in 2008/9 respectively, because it takes what we always knew about them- that they love girl group pop and punk, and know how to play both- but doesn’t force us to extract from the fuzz.

Share the Joy is all about taking those albums and fleshing them out into a classic one- they can jam for three minutes in the middle of this song and keep us happily engaged in the record because it’s giving us breathing space. It’s still carried by its insistence, something the Vivian Girls have always had in their music on their first two records- that belief that they’re making whatever noisy songs they want and you can decipher the pop hooks if you must- but this time it comes from melody rather than disguise. It may have taken us our sweet time to hear how well the voices of Cassie Ramone and Katy Goodman complemented each other on “Such a Joke,” but here their interplay is instantly brilliant and something to keep. On “The Other Girls” they work together perfectly, and they always have, but now we have their voices upfront. And that’s to say nothing of that opening line in “I Heard You Say.”

Not that ditching this side of themselves does any disrespect to fellow lo-fi-beach-pop-what-have-you-punk bands, and in a way Vivian Girls do a bit of catching up on Share the Joy. It’s great to see the trio open and bookend this record with the two longest tracks ever to grace a Vivian Girls studio album, “The Other Girls” loose and with none of the claustrophobia the trio’s lightning pace brings, and “The Light in Your Eyes” which propels the record outward in grand fashion. But through it all Vivian Girls retain what is raw in their music and reinforce that their signature sound is recognisable for more than just bedroom fidelity. These tracks are inherently Vivian Girls even within the record’s newfound structure; “Dance (If You Wanna),” so light-hearted it may well be the indie Safety Dance cover, and “Lake House,” an old live number, so brilliantly pushy with its punchy verses and Campbell’s forward-motion drumming. Vivian Girls have lost nothing of what made them pop stars of static two years ago- they haven’t lost the grunge in their guitar, they can still hand out sweet dating advice- they’ve just lost the static.

I can see a whole lot of dejected indie fans turning off “The Other Girls” before its first sixteen seconds fade away. With six minutes of this song still to come, the pocket of useless noise feels taunting- like a tongue-in-cheek response to the less tongue-in-cheek cry of “not this again!” when someone hears a band recommended in lieu of Crazy For You or Rip It Off. Or worse yet, it might feel like Vivian Girls are just picking up straight where they left off the rumbling ending of Everything Goes Wrong two years ago- they sound ready to go full circle with another round of noisy pop shorts. But if you get past this wall of noise, only bothering to burden Share the Joy for a freaky sixteen seconds, you’ll find a record contained within its little motto, the noise dropped, the joy shared tenfold, the delightful “Dance (If You Wanna)” circling our heads, encouraging us with a smile. “The Other Girls,” no, Share the Joy is about remembering all things Vivian Girls, passionate as ever, more themselves than they’ve ever been.

Vivian Girls – “Dance (If You Wanna)”

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