Artist: Love Is All
Title: Two Thousand And Ten Injuries
Label: Polyvinyl
Genre: Indie
Bitrate: 210kbit av.
Time: 00:34:11
Size: 54.30 mb
Rip Date: 2010-03-25
Str Date: 2010-04-05
01. Bigger Bolder 2:54
02. Repetition 2:31
03. Never Now 3:26
04. Less Than Thrilled 2:16
05. Early Warnings 2:37
06. False Pretense 2:43
07. The Birds Were Singing With All Their Might 3:30
08. Again, Again 1:55
09. Kungen 2:46
10. A Side In A Bed 3:28
11. Dust 3:00
12. Take Your Time 3:05
Release Notes:
Love Is All have never been jaded or abrasive enough to lend their
moniker much irony, but on their first two albums, they did showcase a
rambunctiousness and embrace of dissonance that separated them from the
sunnier, softer-rock iterations of the aughtsÆ big revival of new wave
and post-punk. Unlike the many bands whose fondness for angular and
distorted guitar lines meant little more than dressing the Beach Boys
in tight jeans and messenger bags ù consider the imminently hummable,
never dark debut albums by the Futureheads, Maximo Park, and the
Legends ù Love Is All gave us hints of a thicker, more antisocial set
of influences. A sense of clamor, led by screeching saxophone, paid at
least nominal tribute to more adventurous messes of punkÆs wake. There
were hints of Pere Ubu, and the punk-funk impresario James Chance.
On their third full-length, Two Thousand and Ten Injuries, Love Is All
have turned down the sax, exchanging many of their former bursts of
spunk for half an album thatÆs tighter and more heartbreakingly
anthemic, and a remainder that drifts into directionless tedium. Start
ù because the album does ù with the indie rock versions of
lighter-waving music: the head-bobbing-means-IÆm-moved music. ôLess
Than Thrilledö is the most U2-esque of the batch ù the perfect ôWhere
the Streets Have No Nameö for those of us whoÆd scoff at letting Bono
pull at our heartstrings but who still want guitar heroes to turn our
yearning into redemption. The distorted cries of lead singer Josephine
Olausson and her ôooh-oohö male backing vocals parade over an
atmospheric, twittering lead guitar that the Edge could surely get
behind.
ItÆs the presence of two other influences, however, that marks the
albumÆs first half. Each represents a certain New York indie rock
zeitgeist of recent memory ù one passed and another passing. First we
hear the Strokes (who, incidentally, know a thing or two about how
slicking up for Album No. 3 can lead to a front-loaded disappointment).
ôBigger Bolderö kicks off on beats one and three with
anticipation-building, bass- and drum-driven stomping that wants to be
a sped-up, stiffer version of ôLast Night.ö And the homage doesnÆt end
there. It continues as the opening of ôRepetitionö eerily recalls the
first lines of ôWhat Ever Happened?ö
About 50 seconds into ôRepetition,ö though, we fast-forward half a
decade ù from garage rock proper to a more catholic mix with a thin
veneer of mysticism and ethnic tourism. A heavily echoed, high-pitched
ringing lead takes us on a magic carpet ride out of our Brooklyn
basement. ôNever Nowö gives us more high-end lead, this time emanating
from what sounds like a duet between cleanly picked guitar and
synthesized pan flute. Throw in backbeat and percussion doubling,
garbage can-clacking handclaps ù and a little harmonizing ù and you can
almost picture these Swedes trying on flannel and ganja.
Initially, Two Thousand and Ten Injuries is an oddly successful
hodgepodge ù touching in its ability to appropriate and assimilate its
parts into a whole of energetic heart. By the halfway mark, though, as
though winded from doing laps, Love Is All wind up treading water.
ôFalse Pretense,ö for instance, is a catastrophe of arrested rhythm and
wavering out of tune vocal harmonies that resound like nails on a
chalkboard. In the past, the five band members have shown themselves
capable, with enough rough energy, of turning this sort of flagrantly
jarring sound into schizophrenic poetry. Here though, their mess is
clearly amiss. Things get no worse, but even less engaging. The
(s)lumbering closer, ôTake Your Timeö ù an electronica take on
PachelbelÆs Canon, stands for the conspicuous loss of vitality from
which the second half of the album suffers, leaving it cemented in the
mind when the music stops.
If itÆs a step down from Love Is AllÆs tougher earlier albums, Two
Thousand and Ten Injuries is still, at its best, a soundtrack for the
twee angst of extended adolescence: it can be as crudely but
endearingly ambitious ù and ever-potentially nauseating ù as perpetual
youth. For a moment, our heads are nodding, feet are tapping and hearts
are tingling with the ethereal leads ù loving and lusting through the
awkward experimentation and instant memories of beery Polaroid parties.
ItÆs a shame we canÆt keep feeling this childishly alive forever.
sire@hush.ai