San Francisco's Girls have been in the news a lot lately. With all the charades surrounding frontman Christopher Owens' spotty past, the swinging door of band members, and the basically-gay-porn music video the group recently released, it is clear that dysfunction reigns in Girls.
For a minute, I had to stop listening to the brilliant debut album because it just made me slightly uncomfortable. Like I was being watched, or better yet, exposed. But eventually, the raw honesty and emotional spectrum of the album had me crawling back.
Through acoustic wish list rock ("Lust for Life") and surfside fuzz ("Big Bad Mean Mother Fucker"), Owens channels Elvis Costello and Brian Wilson, but with his own I-was-raised-in-a-cult twist, naturally. Content in his own homosexuality, drug abuse, and mental stability ("fucked in the head"), Owens and Co hold no punches, disarming the listener with the brazen straightforwardness of the band's lyrics, slid into sprawling tunes that can be at once simple and epic ("Summertime"). Besides having the year's best title, "Hellhole Ratrace" is a contender for one of the year's best records. It pleads, runs away, rebounds, laughs, and most of all, hopes. That sounds cheesy, sure, but the introspection involved in these 7 minutes is mesmerizing. Truly a great record on one of the year's standout debut albums.
Hear "Hellhole Ratrace" or watch the all-nighter video.
I'm kicking myself for foolishly missing the Girls show in town last week, but the band just announced a whole new set of tour dates. GO!
No comments:
Post a Comment