How do you begin a review on such an album? Perhaps, I’ll start with my feelings. Androgyny here we come! Modern rumor states talking about your feelings is a positive mode of expression. I feel . . . I feel mislead and teased. Like a bad acid trip. Like I was a five year old kid mistakenly pursuing that guy in a trench coat with some candy, suddenly realizing I was not getting any candy today.
Okay, maybe that’s cruel. Maybe I should objectify this review. Let’s start with the labeling. Opening the album in my itunes I immediately see the album labelled as Punk Rock. The ex-punker in me is stoked. The Sound of Animals Fighting? That’s pretty punk, a little pretentious for any punker I’d known, but it’s got that raw touch to it. This could fly. “The Ocean and the Sun”? Hold the phone. The Exploited called, they want their punk label back. No self-respecting punk in America would push for such imagery, but hey, these might be enlightened punks. By definition, no longer punk, but grown from the roots perhaps. Let’s listen . . .
Let’s pretend I didn’t hear the intro. Let’s slide right into the first track. Oh, it’s the title track. Lovely. The beginning brings in a reminiscence of Portishead. Some raw bluesy vocals overlayed on a simple set of instrumentals. Beautiful. Not punk, but genuinely good music. Starts out timid, working it’s way up, knowing it’s got to sneak past your walls, it maintains steady and clean transitions with a touch of distortion on the vocals bringing a balanced sound. I’m finding myself forgetting the punk labeling as the quality can clearly be felt. Wait, what’s this? Silence. The track is ending, and there are two minutes left of track. No! Don’t do it! Oh, The Sound, you’ve broken my heart. Again. Line after line of awkward questioning towards the listener, idealistic pretentious strivings, subdued just to the point that you question the intentions. One line stands out, “Do you…have to save the world…all by yourselves?” There it is, our theme revived! I had my candy, it was within my grasp, the world was beautiful for a split second there, I had hope in the band, and SNAP! It was taken away, corrupted, twisted.
The album continues on in a similar mode. Beautiful, artful expanses of music, pulling inspiration from a diverse plethora of influences, touches of Muse, moments of Tom Waits, indie pop from the nineties, brief teasings of Scandy, sublimations of Incubus, even a set of chords directly influenced by the Reverend Horton Heat, each one after the other destroyed by random bursts of scream-o, whining pithies, and bleak attempts at pretentious artful excerpts. This album is not only not punk, but not for me.
Review by Josh Taylor
