![]() ![]() It clearly announces itself as Simple Math's "ambitious centerpiece" by going all in on the epic signifiers: daunting strings, a horn section at the bridge, massed vocals, and, of course, a kiddie choir to drive the hook home. Or you get something like "Pensacola", whose stein-swinging coda comes off like a fun idea they were dying to get in somewhere rather than an organic conclusion, to say nothing of its clear resemblance to a Modest Mouse song that happens to be called "Florida".Īnd then there's "Virgin". It's indicative of Simple Math's overcooking: Most of the time, the band can't find a moment of empty space it doesn't fill with that extra guitar overdub, more string cues, or another intimacy-sapping vocal harmony. While the burly guitars on "Mighty" and "Pale Black Eye" flex some swamp-rock muscle, as a full outfit, Manchester Orchestra simply plod instead of groove, bogged down by Simple Math's favorite artificial flavor, a charmlessly and coldly recorded string section. ![]() ![]() It's that ponderous alt-rock framework that makes Simple Math such a drag even as the lyrics and production feel like they're racing to out-sensationalize each other. The problem lies in where Hull ends and Manchester Orchestra begins, and it's a space populated by lesser sons of the south, post-grunge good ol' boys like 3 Doors Down and Collective Soul- tellingly, the most immediately hooky riffs of the lot ("April Fool") lay mere inches down the fretboard from those of "Shine", and "Leave It Alone" flirts too briefly with a raw tenderness before diving headfirst into the sugary dross of truck-selling power ballad "The World That I Know". It's hard to imagine something like the title track, which uses infidelity as a jumping-off point to question the entire basis of human existence, even standing a chance without it. His belief in his own profundity is kind of endearing as Manchester Orchestra's driving force. Hull's got a thing for drunken fuck-ups who own up to their failures, though he's far more interested in using it for autobiography rather than storytelling. As a frontman, he does his peers proud- while his astringent, high lonesome warble immediately recalls the Jim James/Ben Bridwell dialect, it's flexible enough to handle both rebel yells and vulnerable self-flagellation. But hell, if there's any Conor Oberst acolyte capable of making The Merrimack to Titus Andronicus' The Monitor, it's Hull. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |