Girls – Album

In the last 10 years, rock and roll has increasingly become something of a novelty act. Do marketing campaigns like Apple’s Garageband, Guitar Hero and Beatles Rock Band suggest the chapter of great rock albums has already closed? I’ve been thinking about this question quite a bit lately. But along comes a San Francisco upstart — two boys who call themselves, what else? Girls.

If you don’t think that’s a great name for a band, try their album name on for size: Album. That’s right, Album. What’s so remarkable about this choice, however, is what stands behind its name. Because what plays out on Album is a truly classic rock and roll record. No joke.

Somewhere between Elvis Costello, John Lennon and the Violent Femmes, singer Christopher Owens croons with swagger and self-awareness. It’s obvious from his delivery he knows just how good these songs are. The production is sharp, complimentary and creative. From sped up vocals to slow down unraveled moments, everything feels dead on and natural.

“Lust for Life” kicks the door open like a maddened lover desperate for company. By the time the claps and harmonica solo hit, if you’re not in love with this band, something is very, very wrong with you. “I wish I had a boyfriend, I wish I had a loving man in my life/ I wish I had a father maybe then I would’ve turned out right” sings Owens matching, somehow, his bleeding heart intentions with absolute charisma.

And if charisma or the “it” factor is what’s common to all great albums, Album never seems to let down it’s guard. All the while, the subject matter spans from the woes and highs of friendship (“Summertime”) as well as complete isolation (“Ghostmouth”). These are songs about lounging around and wasting hours with best friends and doing what else? Getting high, of course. What’s so remarkable, however, is how Girls captures the sheer romance of what The Smith’s Morissey talks about in “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out,” yet adapts it to the here and now. And they do it so effortlessly.

“Hellhole Ratrace” is the master-stroke of a centerpiece. When Owens sings “I’ve got a sad song in my sweetheart” you believe him. The most punctuated moment on Album, however, is the vocal melisma and waterfall turn of phrase stretching into a bonafide Beatles-worthy “Hey Jude” moment. We’re all singing “I don’t want to cry my whole life through/ I want to do some laughing too/ so come on, come on and laugh with me.” It feels like we’re in good company.

“Morning Light” takes a shot at My Bloody Valentine density which only partly sabotages the clarity of the album. Still, it offers a unique left turn and gives the album a bit of pep near its end. “Curls” is a short bluesy, foreshadowing instrumental that leads well into closer “Darling.” But its Pet Sounds-esque instructional on happiness “Lauren Marie” that offers the album’s thesis: “What is life without a dream and even I know dreams can still come true.” It’s clear Owens knows what all great songwriters know — songs really do have the power to help us when we’re down and out.

In this day and age, it’s nothing short of miraculous for an album like this one to come along. It’s brave, confident, self-aware and honest enough to actually help — to make us feel a little better about being alive. And if that’s not one of the highest accolades one can give to a band, I don’t know what is.

Tagged as: Rock, San Francisco

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