It's not surprising that digging up concrete information on Tampa, Fla.'s Merchandise is a little harder than it should be. As a product of the city's thriving DIY punk and hardcore scene, the three-piece (anchored by multi-instrumentalists David Vassalotti and Carson Cox, who also contributes vocals, along with Patrick Brady on bass) is used to flying under the radar, contributing to other Tampa-based outfits like Neon Blud, Cult Ritual, and the Dry County, respectively. But with Children of Desire, Merchandise's second proper LP to date, lying low no longer seems like much of an option: Though most assuredly not a punk record, Children of Desire is anything but understated; instead, it's an outsized, emotionally rich pop album that practically begs for your attention. "I still participate in punk and hardcore but for traditional reasons," Cox told music blog Yellow Green Red in October. "My roots are strong and have kept me playing whenever I really hated playing shows because of pointless social gossip or whatever. I'm taking the chance that there are people like me outside of punk by playing whatever I like. Genres are not for us."
Merchandise's conflicted feelings about genre are understandable: One of the most interesting things about Children of Desire is, despite being crafted from familiar parts, how damn hard it is to peg. A cursory blog search will tell you that Merchandise play an amalgamation of post-punk or shoegaze or noise pop or pretty much any confluence of notable indie offshoots that gained momentum during the 1980s, and while you certainly wouldn't be faulted for making similar connections, something about such broad distinctions doesn't do the band justice. Trying to figure out where Children of Desire fits is not only a fruitless endeavor, it marginalizes the ambition that acts as the record's most visible engine.
On their 2010 debut, (Strange Songs) In the Dark, things were a bit easier to sort. Working as a miserablist pop album shrouded in corroded production, it's a record that tries to filter the fog of strife and regret that pepper so many songs about love and youth. But for the players that make up Merchandise, these ideas were rendered in ways that were uncommonly restrained. "Learn how to sleep without any company," Cox dourly croons on "What Was Left Behind", "Oh, you're still a young man." Though the approach still feels-- at least from a production standpoint-- punk-influenced, there's no denying that something more romantically resonant was bubbling underneath. On Children of Desire, a great deal of that suspected brightness has broken through the surface, revealing a borderline anthemic sound that's a leap and a revelation. The hot, swirling guitar feedback that overwhelmed (Strange Songs) In the Dark is no longer front-and-center; here, it's a natural by-product of the wide-eyed magic Merchandise have begun to conjure.
"The music started, I realized it was all a lie/ The guitars were running out/ Last year's punk," sings Cox, sounding newly unencumbered on the telling "Become What You Are", a staggering piece of music and one of two songs on Children of Desire that push the 10-minute mark. It's almost proportioned for an arena, glowing and aching in nearly equal measure. Noisy, decadent, and richly characterized by titanic passes of stinging guitar, it sounds both urgent and somehow elegantly dazed. It's the kind of song you don't want to end (it almost doesn't), briefly breaking down from either exhaustion or bliss (or both) only to ratchet itself back up with a tornado-like intensity that ends up spinning the entire thing right off its own axis. The same kind of energy is more concisely registered on "Time", the murderous first single that subscribes to an almost Tears For Fears-like bigness, cut with an undercurrent of Smiths-ian longing, all drenched in swaths of sugar-spun reverb. Thanks to its pop-friendly structure, you wouldn't be hard-pressed to conjure up a dozen other equally flattering reference points, but Children of Desire ultimately succeeds thanks to its ability to still sound singular.
One of the smartest moves Merchandise make on Children of Desire is bringing Cox's vocals to the forefront. There's a delicateness in his voice that, by all accounts, should be crushed whole under the weight of how gigantic these songs can be, but there's also a sturdiness in his baritone that brings a surprising but necessary balance. Cox's phrasing makes it clear that Morrissey has had some sort of an influence on his approach here, like on the driving, industrial-bent cut "In Nightmare Room", which he manages to make sound more like "I Know It's Over" than whatever Jesus and Mary Chain track you're trying to put your finger on. The fact that he doesn't actually sound much of anything like Morrissey is also an important insight, as Merchandise are able channel influences with some sort of vague kineticism rather than flat-out ape them at nearly ever turn, avoiding the easy missteps that a less intuitive band would make pretty quickly otherwise.
There's little denying that Children of Desire is an ambitious effort. Take "Satellite", which sounds as if it's practically lifting "The Suburbs" wholesale and repurposing it as a barroom piano ballad. But watch it then blossom into a radiating, communally drunken waltz. Things like that shouldn't work, but when they do, Children of Desire's risk-taking reads as crucial, not foolhardy. So it's a bit of a downer that the closing, 11-minute "Roser Park" doesn't quite live up to some of the same high-wire tricks that preceded it. You can't help but feel a bit of the air go out of the room, though it's hard not to be a little greedy after being so consistently thrilled. "Roser Park"-- with its beatific organs and mechanically sharp rhythm section-- would be a gem on most any other like-minded LP. Here, it's merely a reminder that, for Merchandise, the bright lights are most definitely on.
