Massachusetts is one of the few geographic signifiers that still holds real significance when describing what an indie rock band sounds like in 2015. And that's because the Bay State breakout acts of late sound like, well, actual indie rock. There are instantly identifiable '90s precedents for Speedy Ortiz's acerbic pop quizzes, the Hotelier's strident anarcho-punk, the confrontation of Pile and Krill, the downer fuzz of California X. But even though they're all from collegiate environs and feature guitar-heavy setups, don't call them "college rock"—the politics of each strongly suggest they don't long for the days when that economically and racially loaded term was used. All of which makes the lack of information regarding Sweet John Bloom actually helpful. They let you know right up front that they're a Massachusetts indie rock band comprised of members from a few other Massachusetts indie rock bands, and little else. But that's all you really need to know going in. Their second LP Weird Prayer takes one of those "What '90s Group Are You?" quizzes and somehow gets "all of the above."
Well, "all of the above" over the span of about 35 minutes, not at the same time. "I think I'm breaking, maybe breaking out/ Slightly cracking, inside there's someone else," yelps Sweet John Bloom's namesake on the opening "Shapeshifter"—I'd call the title a little too on-the-nose if there was any indication that Sweet John Bloom considered themselves to be clever or meta. Each of Weird Prayer's 15 tracks finds the quartet to be anxious, yearning, and establishing their identity as one that's liable to shift within the span of a few minutes. At any given point, they'll have the Budweiser-soaked rock star visions of Guided By Voices ("Blood Moon"), amble with the superficially effortless sprawl of Pavement ("Nothing Is Natural"), pledge allegiance to high-strung Midwestern emo ("Weird Prayer") or the hoarse lo-fi whispers of Sparklehorse ("Bury Ruby"). Weird Prayer has diversity, but relative to 2015, not a lot of range. It's a winner's history of indie rock that doesn't contain a lot of footnotes or room for contrarianism.
And all of the aforementioned had really mixed emotions about the concept of "winning"—their anthems seemed accidental, success laden upon them by critics and idealist fans rather than embraced as a birthright of a rock band. At the very least, they represented something current and were superlative among their peers in real time. Sweet John Bloom, on the other hand, write good songs. There are at least 10 of them on Weird Prayer. Some of them generate their staying power from melodic sticking points, others from a lyric that hits straight on in between so many that work the angles.
But unlike their current peers in Massachusetts, it's tough to figure out where Sweet John Bloom's record collection ends and they begin. From the moment Bloom's agitated, adenoidal yelp is laid over a rhythm section that rollicks just enough to push them off the grid, Sweet John Bloom beg comparisons to the current pacesetter for comprehensive indie rock, Parquet Courts. While lacking Andrew Savage's arch, referential lyricism, sifting through Bloom's words at least suggests he's a cerebral dude about his bummer attitude—"Pieces of your youth that you grew up clinging to/ Come later to find in life that none of it was true." But Parquet Courts without their arch, referential lyricism is basically Tapes 'n Tapes—they can write songs, catchy ones too, but they'll always have to be talked about as nostalgists by their frame of reference.
In fact, Weird Prayer is at its best when Sweet John Bloom embrace the possibility that they're a power-pop band rather than an indie rock one. "Blood Moon" ekes further towards the Buzz Bin than "120 Minutes", with a chorus and bridge that leap rather than fall forward. Clear highlight "Tell Me" channels the enduring, simplistic appeal of teen angst into adult situations—doesn't matter if it's a boss, a spouse, a landlord, whatever, when Bloom hollers, "I know what you want to say/ I know what you're trying to tell me right now/ But I ain't gonna hear it," you might as well be confronting your high school gym teacher. Similar to Posse's "Shut Up", a particularly excellent piece of '90s indie fan-fic from last year, "Tell Me" is a bold song about doing nothing, being passive as a form of aggression. In lieu of having a firm lyrical or philosophical platform, Sweet John Bloom somehow stand out most when they take a seat.
