I've had this creeping suspicion lately that I can relate just about anything in my life to Noah Baumbach's film Kicking and Screaming. For those who've seen it, maybe you'll understand. For those who haven't, bear with me. It's a dialogue-driven piece of celluloid populated by a bunch of post-college-grads who spend their time quizzing each other about films in which monkeys have a starring role, calling themselves the Cougars (or is it the Hawks?) and obsessing over trivial things like crossword puzzles, phone messages and a "cookie man."
Okay, so that's a bit of oversimplification. The basic gist is that these four guys are trying to figure out what the hell they're going to do with their lives, but for the most part, they're too afraid to actually do anything about it. Cliché, right? Probably. And what does this have to do with Aereogramme, anyway? Well, see, there's this morose bastard in the film named Max who fixates on the tiniest things, obsessing over them to the point of social paralysis. At one point, he admits to a feeling of nostalgia for just about everything, claiming that he's nostalgic for events that are happening at that moment, and often for events that haven't even occurred. And nostalgia is exactly the state of mind I find myself in right now listening to Aereogramme's A Story in White. I doubt it's the reaction the band was looking for when they recorded this album, but once I heard the disc and read they were from Scotland, it was too late.
So where does this yearning for the past originate? Mid-90s Glasgow. First it was Mogwai. Or was it Belle and Sebastian? I can't remember. Seems to me it was all around the same time anyway. Those late winter days of 1996 and the early months of 1997. It all happened so fast. Two Glaswegian bands flip-flopped a little corner of the music world (or at least mine) and, within a few months, indie scenesters were dropping their names at every opportunity. There have been other bands coming out of that Scottish town since-- markedly Arab Strap and the little-heard Ganger-- but nowadays people hear "Glasgow" and some of the names jumping immediately to mind are Belle and Sebastian or Mogwai. I'm no exception. Though, if this disc in any indication, people might soon add Aereogramme to that list of Glaswegian notables.
Rising from the ashes of Ganger (singer/guitarist Craig B's former band), Aereogramme has been around since '99. Releasing a couple of now out-of-print singles, the lads finally found a home on the Chemikal Underground label (also home to Mogwai) and set up camp in a studio for a few months. A couple of EPs later, plus A Story in White, and these guys are approaching full sonic bloom. Spanning 13 tracks, the Matador issue of this album contains the full UK version, plus the entire White Paw EP. Capable of constructing quiet, beautiful melodies one minute and transforming into snarling tension-filled guitar fury the next, Aereogramme is sure to draw comparisons to Mogwai-- inaccurate though they may be.
A Story in White has Aereogramme trying its hand in a number of different arenas: angular math-rhythmic guitar on the opener "The Question is Complete," the lo-fi muted beauty of "Egypt," the driven catharsis of "Zionist Timing" or the beautiful, string-laden "Sunday 3:52" that places them squarely in the Rachel's territory. Their tendency to hurdle genre boundaries and bound headfirst into different spaces is alarming at times. For an example, witness the transition from the sweeping, lustrous beauty of "Sunday 3:52" into the primal scream therapy of "Screaming for Joey." Dividing the album in two halves, "Screaming for Joey" captures Aereogramme in full bombardment gear, pummeling their instruments with Craig B shredding vocal cords amid the blare.
In contrast, though, the standout moments on A Story in White are reserved for quieter melodies. "A Meaningful Existence" might just be the finest thing these guys have committed to tape. Beginning with just Craig B crooning atop quiet piano and some gurgling electronics in the background, it soon shifts into full-on Dave-Fridmann-style percussion boom. Pushing forward with driving rhythm, and propelled by drum fills and a muscular guitar solo, it's bliss-inducing moments like this that make the album so delightful. Electronically treating the instruments on many of the tracks, the distant thuds on "Post-Tour, Pre-Judgement" echoes dub territory before the song blossoms into a wash of multi-textured wash of guitar, vocals and electronics. The lyrics on the album rarely seem to be a focal point, but Craig B's vocals are rarely obtrusive (unless he's in full screech mode). And while his ability to shift pitches from quiet whisper or gentle hum to abrasive yowls is nowhere near that of the uncanny Mike Patton, it's an often mesmerizing thing.
The broken-hearted "Will You Still Find Me?" is a mournful, lonely dirge with B sorrowfully chanting, "If I am alone will you still find me," before fading into an electronic murmur. The album closes with three bonus tracks ("Motion," "Messenger" and "The Art of Belief" from the White Paw EP), all of which blend undetectably into the unfolding spheres of A Story in White.
So has Glasgow done it again? Is Aereogramme the next indie household name? I don't know, but listening to this album repeatedly for a couple of weeks, I'm envisioning myself just like Max: nostalgic for this moment before it's even passed, and positioning myself in the future so I can look back and think, "Remember when that Aereogramme album came out? The leaves were falling. It was cold and the heaters wouldn't work..."
