Album

GirlsAlbumThey’re called Girls, not The Girls. This is their debut album, titled Album. You can learn quite a bit from these two words - girls and album. Yes, this is an album - bingo, guys. But no, these aren’t girls. Two boys here. Skinnyish. Shaggy. Stoic. Retro. Two boys who play it just as straight as their misnomer name and indescript album title would imply. They play it like it’s radio hour in 1965 or a Brooklyn buzz-bash in 1998. Something like that. These gals play seriously catchy, often jangly, instantly memorable indie rock that would sound just fine even if played between very different (yet surely Brooklyn/65 similar) bands like Belle & Sebastian and I Was a King.

It’s the vocals and writing that do it. Singer/songwriter Christopher Owens sounds as if he’s attempting to voice a character for an edgy cartoon about teenagers who dabble in soft drugs and thick-frame specs. He sings in a manner that at once seems instantly obvious, instantly loveable and instantly unique. This is the first thing most people will notice when they put this record in/on the player. Joined only by JR White, who crafts the majority of the playing we hear on Album, Owens provides the vocals and writing, focusing his subject matter on the topic of adolescence. Or, in the words of his own press release, “woozy, neurotic adolescence.” Been there. Kinda still there.

Album opener “Lust For Life” is for lovers. If you’re 17 and a half, you’ll play this song in your car with your girlfriend and feel like someone understands you. Your girlfriend will feel the same way.  If you’re say, 35, you’ll play this song in your car and realize that it doesn’t matter if you’re 17 and a half or 35 or 70 - this song makes perfect sense. Owens sings the line “I wish I had a ______” over and over again, wishing for different things. “I wish I had a pizza and a bottle of wine / I wish I had a beach house / And we can make a big fire every night.” You get it. He’ll drop his vocal tone here and there in a funny yet subtle way - the kind of detail that makes the listener think they’re the only one who notices (he does this sort of thing often, and it works). You are the only one who gets it. (You and everyone else.) That’s how this Owens guy works. Through instantly familiar pop-rock moves, he tugs at the heart strings, tickles the funny bone and pushes buttons that many other bands have pushed before. The Beach Boys. Teenage Fanclub. Poppy stuff that will always sound cool and will always be influential. These are indie rock dudes who like 60s music and keep it simple and jangly.

And keeping it simple and jangly works, but not for long. The first few songs on Album will have you thinking that Girls is your favorite new band. (You might not even get past track two, “Laura.” You might just put that tune on repeat for the rest of your life.) But then track five, “Big, Bad, Mean Motherf&%#er,” comes on and all of the sudden it’s The Explorer’s Club all over again. And by that, I mean that you’re suddenly listening to a band that sounds a little too much like their already way-too-obvious influences. It’s a shame, but you, the seasoned listener, can get over it and keep listening. This is, after all, a debut album. And these guys are from San Francisco and have cool hair.

So you keep listening. You keep listening until you realize that, hey, all those great indie rock moves that worked on those first few songs (those moves that made you feel okay about everything) - yeah, those are being repeated. Slightly altered, but still, they’re being repeated. The bag of tricks is small, and not so tricky. But the tunes are okay. If you’re not one of those listeners who downloads 14 new albums per week, you might get to know tracks five through twelve, and they might just end up working for you almost as well as tracks one through four do.

Is this version of woozy and neurotic adolescence worth your time? Absolutely. Christopher Owens and JR White are fantastic at this rock thing. They might not be great album makers just yet, but they’re the rare band who can play it familiar and unique at the same time. And if Owens ever decides to stray from the whole “soak up the sunshine” bit and dip into his own personal back story (Google it, it’s feature-film-wild), watch out, he’s going to have some stories to tell. Until then, enjoy Album, if only for its fantastic opening four cuts.  8.5/10

Written by G. William Locke