For those of you quick to jump to conclusions, I'd like to cut you off and mention straightaway that this album isn't even half as emo as the cover art makes it look. The guitars rarely rage, the meters are never odd, and the vocalist never wails like a possum in heat. If I were to label them at all, in fact, I'd just call them a pop band, plain and simple. Popular prefixes like 'power' and 'post' need not apply.
And so it goes that all over The Californian, the second full-length from the L.A.-based four-piece Sunday's Best, the guitars chime melodically, the vocalist never yells at you, and a guy known as James Tweedy (no relation) studiously offers up utilitarian basslines with a minimum of flash. The funny thing about all this is that Sunday's Best used to be totally emo, but somewhere between their debut and this album, they seem to have realized (possibly through their own introspectiveness) that they weren't very good at it and would be better off moving in next door to Sloan and the Posies and honing their songcraft.
Critical flippancy aside, the band has undergone a lot of cataclysmic change in their lives between records, including divorce, exiting members, rehab and rough tours, and these life experiences have lent more authenticity to their music. Vocalist Edward Reyes is suddenly a smooth, capable singer with a bit of 70s AM honey in his voice and it suits him, though sometimes the double tracking that's heaped on feels a little overdone. That's hardly the only cue the guys take from the 70s, though, as the chorused guitars that crop up frequently are quick to remind.
Like most pop bands with guitars, Sunday's Best are at their most affecting when the songs are trimmed of excess fat and drive the melody straight home. Opener "The Try" is nicely arranged, with several contrasting rhythmic feels, each of which appropriately support the lead material they're given. Drummer Thomas Ackerman and co-producer Tony Lash (ex-Heatmiser, drummer for No. 2) keep the sound crisp and clear and are always sure to have Reyes' voice up front and center-- an important move, as his tenor is easily the most distinctive element within the band.
Ian Moreno's lead guitar parts play a nice second fiddle to the vocals throughout the album, never intruding on Reyes' space, but adding a little more interest to the backgrounds. Yet, despite the musical subtleties present, it's a shame that the band hasn't made more attempts to broaden their overall sound, as the sonic uniformity of The Californian begins to wear as it progresses. "If We Had It Made," with its surprising, tasteful incorporation of bells into the arrangement, hints at something more expansive in the band's future.
If Reyes is the band's focal point, it certainly helps that his lyrics (co-written with Ackerman) aren't half bad. The lightly rocking "Our Left Coast Ambitions" is one of the record's best tracks, featuring sarcastic calls of "Hooray for Hollywood!" and a lead guitar part with some unusual volume and crunch, while "Beethoven St." is straightforward and unapologetically nostalgic for the street Reyes grew up on. Part of what makes "Beethoven St." work is that the feeling of nostalgia is conveyed through imagery, rather than through the whiny "I wish things were the way they were"-isms that too many songwriters get bogged down with.
Sunday's Best stretches out the structure of the final song, "Los Feliz Arms," utilizing loud/soft dynamics and some guitar heroics likely left over from their early days, but keeping it reigned in enough that you don't forget it's a pop song. But that, of course, is one of The Californian's primary shortcomings: it's just a bit too polite. I'm not advocating a feedback frenzy or a screaming fit on any of these songs, but the band could stand to be less afraid to let loose and step a bit outside of the ultra-comfortable pop trappings they're now calling home.
Between that and the overall single-hued feel of the album, it's hard to recommend this to just anybody, though fans of guitariffic indie pop should find it pretty easy to swallow. The Californian is a fine, if inessential sophomore effort from a skilled band that could be on the cusp of something great if only they'd let their guard down.
