Nobody Wants to be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave

The Twilight Sad

Nobody Wants to be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave

(Fatcat)

It’s fitting that The Twilight Sad’s fourth album was recorded at Castle of Doom studios.  Though they do not sound like Joy Division, The Twilight Sad exudes a similar sense of doom with their music.  It’s not an overt, forced delivery.  It is a sense of an unspoken tragedy lurking just beneath the surface that comes naturally with every note played, and every word sung.  I don’t know what this says about me, but it speaks to me.  I cannot recommend their music enough, nor do I have the talent or breadth of language to express the reasons why.

The Twilight Sad’s third album, No One Can Ever Know (my #16 pick from 2012 seen here), was awash in keyboards and experimentalism, which was a striking change from their spacious landmark debut Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters and the claustrophobic, yet cathartic noise fest of Forget the Night Ahead, while this new album seems to see them returning to the basic guitar, bass and drums set, but now nicely augmented by the keyboard touches.  In a way, this album feels like a culmination of their entire career.  It picks and chooses from their strengths shown with each release and in a way have created their most spacious, melodious, and accessible album yet.

The album opens with the down tempo, but ominously building “There’s a Girl in the Corner,” where singer James Alexander Graham sets a story of heartbreak that “you’re not coming back from this,” and is augmented beautifully by Mark Devine’s muscular drum work, Andy MacFarlane’s tasteful guitar textures and striking keyboards.  On the next two tracks, the Sad up the speed and give us two sprawling nuanced and mesmerizing songs.  The first single, “Last January,” glides along with a relentless mid-range bass line and high end guitar flourishes that recalls the darkest early moments of the amazing Kitchens of Distinction, while the more grinding and heavier “I Could Give You all That You Don’t Want,” summons up a big, painful sing-along chorus.  Speaking of catchy, “Drown So I Can Watch,” is sinister and loud, but is an addictive listen. 

The Twilight Sad capture the slow gloom of early Cure (Seventeen Seconds and Faith) on the slow burning melancholy of “It Was Never the Same,” while the title track revisits the expansiveness of their previous album with the uncomfortable drum machine thump, an atmospheric feedback buzz and church like organ.  The album closes with a pair of haunting and slow songs that provide a sparseness that they have rarely displayed on record.  It’s difficult to pull out particular songs to highlight.  All of The Twilight Sad’s albums are best consumed from start to finish and this is no exception. 

Maybe the inherent darkness in this band’s music has kept them from achieving the notoriety and commercial success they so deserve, but it is their commitment and consistency that has made them such an important band.  I think their influence will one day be bigger than most of their contemporaries, so why not get in now, while we can go out and see them perform and enjoy the fruits of their labor now.

(thetwilightsad.com)

The Twilight Sad "Last January"

 

Unravelling

We Were Promised Jetpacks

Unravelling

(Fatcat)

It’s been three years since We Were Promised Jetpacks released their relentless second album In the Pit of the Stomach (my #10 pick for 2011 seen here) and for whatever reason, there stock has seemingly risen during their absence.  This is not a complaint, because they are a great band and I love to see the artists that I like find a growing audience, but it is curious that they sold out the Doug Fir here in Portland, where I saw them back in February without the benefit of any new material (live album aside), while their previous visit was as an opening act for label mates The Twilight Sad at an even smaller venue.  Now, just last week they headlined the Wonder Ballroom, an even larger venue, headlining this time with The Twilight Sad in support.  Maybe absence is the new marketing strategy.  I also saw the recently reunited Slowdive perform this last week and they sold out their entire US tour, while they were barely attended as an opener for Ride back in May of 1992.  Or it just takes time for word to spread, I guess.

At any rate, between albums, We Were Promised Jetpacks added a new band member, Stuart Michael McGachan on keyboards and additional guitar, and his impact is quite noticeable.  The elements of atmosphere that he is providing seem to have had a grounding effect on the band.  Their arrangements on Unravelling are fuller and more diverse.  The all out intensity of their first two ‘loud-quiet-loud’ albums is still intact, but not quite as in your face, and frankly, not quite as exhausting.  Don’t get me wrong, it is their all-in intensity that is what drew me to their sound to begin with, but it is nice to see them move beyond the on the verge of fisticuffs edge where they have always teetered.  Singer Adam Thompson continues to impress with his thoughtful lyrics, powerful voice, and assaulting rhythm guitar work, while lead guitarist Michael Palmer is now allowed to toss in some more intricate textures and layers, which only increases the welcoming rush when he floods the speakers with his overloading passes of noise.  Meanwhile, bassist Sean Smith and drummer Darren Lackie have really expanded their input, with an added element of staccato beats and spacious groovy post punk bass-lines that we first heard from the likes of Gang of Four and Orange Juice. 

It’s a bit shocking to hear the quiet and smooth keyboard introduction on album opener “Safety in Numbers.”  The first time I heard the song, my immediate impression is that they’ve been listening to too much Coldplay, with Thompson’s vocals smooth and soft vocal delivery.  Luckily, the song turns out to be maybe the strongest on the album.  Somehow it continues to build momentum throughout the entirety of the track making it difficult to move into the next song.  I actually played the song about four or five times before moving on.  Likewise, “Peaks and Troughs” builds and builds throughout, but instead of letting things run rampant and out of control as before, the song maintains its focus and allows its subtleties to drive its message home.   “Peace Sign” is another example of this new found restraint (and beautiful piano fills from McGachan) and yet still finds the time to reach for the noisy heights of past offerings. 

Elsewhere, “Night Terror” finds a buzzing groove with a heavy bass line and that staccato beat leading the way into an explosive chorus.  However, these new found rhythms are hit and miss for me.  While “Night Terror,” the grinding “Moral Compass,” and “Bright Minds” incorporate their new expansion of sound perfectly into the strengths that first attracted me to their music, the laborious “I Keep it Composed” feels tired, while the overly long and directionless “Disconnecting” bogs down the entire flow of the record.  I appreciate their experimental spirit, but this is really B-side material.

Despite one major misstep, this is still a great album.  The darkness of the story of someone (or all of us) unraveling throughout is actually tempered by the closing portion of the album – uncharacteristically allowing a ray of light into the band’s normally bleak outlook.  The heavy pounding of the powerful “Moral Compass” seems to find some cleansing and a resolve to try to overcome and persevere.  The majestic and spectacular extended instrumental passage “Peace of Mind” is a perfect soundtrack to a beautiful sunrise.  Finally, the closing “Ricochet” is a nice bit of reflection to end the proceedings.

I hope this band’s honesty, intensity, and ever expanding palette of sound continues to find a wider audience.  They are more than worthy of your attention. 

(wewerepromisedjetpacks.com)

 We were Promised Jetpacks "Safety in Numbers"

Honeyblood

Honeyblood

Honeyblood

“Bud” 7”

(Fatcat)

When I first heard Honeyblood’s single “Bud,” back on a very chilly evening last winter, I instantly fell in love.  They somehow captured the momentous bright shining energy of Belly’s “Feed the Tree” and crossed it with the lazy hot summer afternoon vibe of Mazzy Star’s “Halah.”  For anyone that has known me for a long time, they most likely know that I played those two songs to death upon their respective releases twenty plus years ago.  These were songs that I simply could not get enough of.  Over and over again, I’d play them.  “Bud” has been exactly the same.  The vinyl may have to be replaced soon, because the chiming guitar, crashing cymbals and soaring dual vocal chorus of Stina Tweeddale and Shona McVicar reminding me that “it’s not your fault at all” have been like a blissful narcotic, but the grooves are starting to dull from overuse.  When I was lucky enough to see Honeyblood open for We Were Promised Jetpacks back in February, I was noticeably disappointed that they didn’t follow their performance of “Bud” with a second one, because I always listen to it at least twice.  If there are any copies of the single left, I highly recommend tracking down the vinyl, but at least snag the download, because the B-side “Kissing on You” is also a wonderful piece of pure pop a la Best Coast, but as filtered through early Spinanes (think “Suffice” or ‘Spitfire”) guitar/drum simplicity.

Honeyblood "Bud"

It seems like it’s been eons since I’ve been waiting for Honeyblood’s album to finally be released, but finally it has arrived and it does not disappoint.  This Glasgow duo’s self-titled debut lives up to the promise of “Bud” and has me brimming with excitement.  I’ve never been one to take much stock in historical heritage, but sometimes I wonder if the bit of Scottish in my family’s bloodline is why I love so many Scottish bands and why I approach almost anything that I love with at least a small touch of dread and trepidation.  The opening song “Fall Forever” begins with an urgent guitar strum before bursting into a Pale Saints-like hazy and grinding fuzz of beautiful noise that somehow both finds comfort and solace in the early excitement of a fresh new crush, yet the lyrics are filled with harsh images of blood, lambs to the slaughter, punching and scratching.  In other words, this song is pretty much perfect.  It simply continues on from there.  Stina’s vocals and lyrics effortlessly roll off her tongue in such a natural conversational way.  In “(I’d Rather Be) Anywhere but Here,” she rattles off her escape plans from her childhood locale and common theme, but here it sounds so tangibly identifiable and the music is absolutely brilliant.  The echo-laden guitar layers and steady heavy beat evoke the huge sound of Whipping Boy’s 1995 masterpiece Heartworm.  The similar sounding “Biro” presents us with allusions to frustrations and the futility of writing about the human condition (“If I threw my pen into the sea / I know there will be someone to write after me”).  When does one cross the line from identifiable troubles to simply whining? 

“Bud” reappears on the album in an altered state, which of course, gives me ample excuse to begin listening to it as much as I did last winter.  Peter Katis’ production on this version is interesting, because he strips away the Mazzy Star blur, which gives Stina’s vocals a softer plaintive feel and Shona’s drums a bigger impact.  Luckily, Katis does not mess with the glory of that spectacular chorus.  Newest single “Super Rat,” is a vicious indictment of someone who has wronged them in love and with zero subtlety with a chorus of “I will hate you forever” and this: “SCUMBAG!  SLEAZE!  SLIMEBALL!  GREASE!  You really do disgust me!!” 

The second half of this album loses zero momentum.  “Choker” begins with a classic rock riff and pounding rock drums, all while providing a sinister peak into a troubling relationship (“What doesn’t kill you / just makes you stronger”).  Meanwhile, “No Spare Key” provides one of the sparest arrangements, Stina’s free flowing words, and a bridge to die for.  The pure pop side of Honeyblood shines through as “Joey” comes in with a bounce in its step and some fantastic vocal melodies, as does the handclaps and pop waltz of the breezy “Fortune Cookie.”  They also bring on song straight ahead rock with the shout-along ‘Killer Bangs” and another diss with “All Dragged Up” (“Why won’t you grow up?”). 

“Braidburn Valley” closes this incredible debut with a moody isolated autumnal walk outside that slowly reveals some kind of deep hurt, before breaking into a blistering buzz revealing that the hurt is both mental and physical (“Another fucking bruise / This one looks just like a rose”).  The simple imagery is amazing and intriguing and tells so much more than the thrifty use of lyrics.

All I can say is: get the album, see them live, and support this music.

(honeyblood.co.uk)

Honeyblood "Super Rat"