I
wanted to like this album. I really did.
From the hyped descriptions,
The Thrill's style seemed like something I'd really resonate with - a young, modern band once again taking up the mantle of sunny retro-60's/70's AM radio country-rock. Not only that, they had an intriguing cover story. Because this young, modern band attempting to lovingly recreate a lost California sound weren't from California at all (too obvious), or even America, but from Dublin — and when you think of Ireland, your mind leaps to
The Pogues,
The Chieftains,
U2,
Sinead O'Connor — not, say,
The Eagles. Which is perhaps why, in the initial stages, the five friends packed up for a summer and moved to San Diego for four months, to experience firsthand the fabled environment that nurtured some of their favorite music.
So far, so good. The opening salvo on their debut album,
So Much For the City, matches up. "Santa Cruz (You're Not That Far)" indeed engenders good vibes as it breaks in as a pretty piano ballad, then abruptly shifts into a head-bobbing, tambourine-shaking, harmonizing chorus. And then you head into the rest of the album.
First listen.
Ok, sometimes it takes a few
times through before the music clicks in.
Second listen.
Umm...
Third listen.
In the middle of a few of the songs, I've started reaching for the skip button — not a good sign.
Unfortunately, mirroring the album's pattern of starting with the strongest track, the best part of a Thrills song tends to be the opening phrase. The first 8 beats of piano that opens "Deckchairs and Cigarettes" recalls the opening of
The Carpenters' "Close to You" (
Why .. do .. birds suddenly appear ... ), the opening of "Big Sur" combines the prelude klaxon synth of
Erasure's "Chorus" with a banjo lick before stuttering into the first verse (actually, that's likely the producer's influence more than the band's - Tony Hoffer (
Air,
Beck,
Smashing Pumpkins)).
The ultimate weakness comes from the repetitious nature of the songs, both lyrically and melodically. Lyrically, the excerpt above from "Deckchairs and Cigarettes" is a good example. Seventy-five percent of the lyrics exhibit a similar level of creativity, the other twenty-five seem slightly incomprehensible in context. The melodies have only the feel of being catchy; deep down, many are bland to the point of active annoyance. "Old Friends, New Lovers" and "Hollywood Kids" are particularly plodding. And then, with nothing left to distract you, you also begin to notice weakness in Conor Deasy's vocals. A voice that might seem light and quirky (similar to Dean Wareham of
Galaxie 500/
Luna, or Ira Kaplan of
Yo La Tengo), if only what it was singing was more lively and sparkling, here it comes off flat and uninteresting.
When a band has so much apparent momentum — handpicked by Morrissey to open for him at a two-nighter Royal Albert Hall gig (their London debut), landing on several best album of the year lists, their UK success — there has to be something you're missing, isn't there? It could be something in their live shows that doesn't come across on this album, it could just be the novelty of this retro-style in today's musical climate. I'm happy to give them another chance, but for now, for my modern retro-alt-country-rock fix, I think I'll try out
The Thorns next (even though they're not as young, or as photogenic).
