When it comes to writing about music, it's all about the music, right? Well, not quite. Even bands who claim to be all about the music function on other levels, whether intentionally or not, whether they like it or not. Their image, the way the CDs are packaged... every aspect of the whole package makes a statement of sorts. What's more even music itself is never purely about the music: technical competence counts for only a fraction of the experience. It's how the listener engages with the music, how it makes listeners feel.
'It's All True' makes me feel irritated. Ok, not all of it, but there's something in the choice of sounds - those squelchy bass tones and the fussy bomps and bibbles, pips and squiggles, assembled to create a minimalist funk-edged electro pop album - that grinds my gears.
'Playtime' is sparse, slow, and relies on the spaces between the sounds to forge a roomy sense of bleakness, but then 'A Truly Happy Ending' is almost embarrassing, the 80s robotix sounds and falsetto vocals - presumably an attempt at soulfulness - just sounds naff.
It all seems to sterile, flaccid, hollow. The breathy vocals seem contrived to elide a real emotional connection, but the exact opposite is the case, and while style is a matter of taste (and stylized as this is, I wouldn't call it stylish), substance isn't, and 'It's All True' is sadly lacking in this department too. What makes it worse is the fact that the lyrics are delivered with such sincerity. When Jeremy Greenspan croons 'Remember you're still a lousy faker' on 'Second Chance', I wonder if he's been looking in the mirror lately, because there's something suspicious and false in the veneered synthetic surface. At the same time, the affected nonchalance radiates an air of hipster arrogance that just doesn't wash, and the smugness that trickles out of the empty and utterly pointless groove workout of 'Kick the Can' does nothing to convince otherwise, while the nine-minute closer 'Banana Ripple' is the sound of a pair of funky heads wedged a long way up their own sphincters. And that's not a sound I can get into.
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Junior Boys Online
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