EP round-up, pt. 2
Okay, first things first: ignore the title of this record if you must. Don’t get hung up on what is surely one of the most reprehensible (but amazing) puns in all of recorded history. The title, however awesome, is irrelevant — don’t judge a book by its cover!
Now that that’s taken care of, lets talk Larry Arms. I love this band to an obscene degree. Their 2003 album, the Greatest Story Ever Told, is one of my 15 favourite albums of all time and their other two Fat-era releases aren’t far behind. Their two singer/songwriters have a distinctive yin/yang thing going for them, bassist Brendan Kelly serving as an abrasive, aggressive counterpoint to guitarist Chris McCaughan’s melancholic crooning. Common themes are drinking, living below your potential, alcohol, regret, booze, and dealing with past failures. Its a heady combination that’s further augmented by a dark sense of humour and occasional subversive pop-culture references. They’re one of Chicago’s most stalwart poppish-punk groups, so far managing to avoid the overtures to teenage girls made by your Alkaline Trios or the breaking up of your Smoking Popes.
This EP is released to mark their 10th anniversary and perhaps inadvertently it represents the past and the potential future of the group in stark contrast.
Kelly’s contributions reflect the former. “Spit Shining Shit” kicks off the EP, a number which reportedly began in Kelly’s side project, The Falcon. With a mid-tempo pace, palm muted power chords, and occasional rim shot percussion is indicative of that band’s more pop-rock leanings. “Them Angels Been Talking” is a less-adventurous cut, recalling several previous Kelly songs in its vocal melody and orchestration. The opening vocal of “Demons” and some other portions of the song heavily recall “Like A Record Player,” one of the poppier numbers from their last full-length, Oh, Calcutta!. These similarities aren’t overt, more a subtle sense of deja vu. That’s not to say these songs aren’t enjoyable, but it does ring a bit familiar.
McCaughan, on the other hand, seems like he’s continuing to look for the atypical arrangements that marked some of his best tracks on the Greatest Story Ever Told. He continues to provide some choice melancholy and lyrical lonesomeness as well, especially on the track provided below, “the Slowest Drink In The Saddest Bar On The Snowiest Day In The Greatest City.” The chorus in two parts outlines it best: “Walk through the street to a bar where there’s no one I know/Drink slow, drink slow, with nowhere to go/And when I leave I’ll be singing this song/Summer’s gone, carry on, I’m a ghost in the dawn.” The track is broken up by an alternating tempo, the shifting pace relaying the constant mental conflict and anguish a person can inflict on themselves when they’re alone. On closer “The Redness In The West” he spends the better part of 90 seconds seething about how he’s beholden to unreceptive, sometimes antagonistic audiences. The churning guitar and world-weary singing carry through a chorus-less number that seems mired in misery.
When the band comes in for the big finish on that track, it wraps up a set of songs that can be interpreted in different ways. For each lyrical or musical allusion that might suggest the group is somehow growing weary of doing what it does there is an accompanying self-affirmation. As McCaughan states on the final track, “I got a fever for the cowbell, boys/I fell for the beat and I stay down for the noise.” Of course, that’s before he insists, “This time we’re gonna roll where only fools dare/We’re gonna lie tonight/then we’ll disappear.”
I hope the former holds true instead of the latter.
the Lawrence Arms - the Slowest Drink In The Saddest Bar On The Snowiest Day In The Greatest City [3:13m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | DownloadBuy the new 7″ and most of the rest from Fat Wreck. Asian Man has more in their store and the iTunes covers off pretty much everything.
