It's always sad to see a formerly lively band grow labored and predictable in their old age. It's also always sad to see a critic drone on and on about his youthful experiences in order to set up an emotional context for his admonishments. This review will contain plenty of both, so be forewarned.
The Figgs hold a special place in my heart, simply through the serendipity of being the opening act at my first concert. Okay, not my very first concert (that'd be Kenny Loggins with the 'rents)... alright, not even the first concert chosen under my own volition (that'd be Aerosmith and Megadeth, also with the fam in tow)... okay, not my first concert without parental supervision either (that'd be Soundgarden and Tad). But let's call it the first show that had any sort of bearing on my subsequent listening habits: The Poster Children and The Figgs at Chicago's fine Cabaret Metro.
With the naïve exuberance of a high school freshman not yet allergic to the limited returns of opening acts, The Figgs were pure joy: they were loud! Fast! Jumped around! Had songs about ice cream! Maniacally unencumbered by familial chaperones, I celebrated like a mid-90s teenager should: crowd-surfing! Moshing! After the show, I eagerly scooped up a copy of the band's Lo-Fi at Society High, and went on to treasure it like any kid who thinks he's found a band only he knows about.
Holy name of Jesus! It's been ten years since those innocent days, and look at how things have changed. A decade later, I'm a little more informed and a lot more cynical, and while Lo-Fi (and its not-bad successor Banda Macho) still sounds good, I can recognize that the songs within were little more than sped-up Elvis Costello ripoffs. A decade later, The Figgs are probably a little more cynical, too, having been victimized by a number of label restructurings (including Capitol Records'), endured the loss of a member, and now, ended up on tiny Boston-based Hearbox Records.
Or at least it would seem that way, as Slow Charm opens with Pete Donnelly declaring, "I'll never go back to being that way." Yet, it seems like the changes they've made since I last encountered them have all been of subtraction, as The Figgs incarnation here sounds rather caffeine-free compared to the sugar-high act of old. Minus the fast tempos and punchy rhythms, Donnelly's voice is left astonishingly bland on his share of the songs-- "Static" and "The Trench" are unpleasantly MOR-friendly. Doubles partner Mike Gent fares better, his peculiar, acrid voice still intact, but with more mature subject matter replacing the lovelornaments of the past, it's put to waste on spineless material like "Protocol".
Of course, I don't expect The Figgs to still be throwing down spittle-spraying material like "Favorite Shirt" as they ease over the hill, but what passes for growth here is less than promising. "Metal Detector" is proud of its theremin overdubs but ultimately limp, while the two-chord "Soon" cuts a weak swagger, its bargain wah-pedal and senseless organ noodling making it sound something my jamband-polluted high school would've regurgitated.
The majority of Slow Charm displays pop that has traded in the "power-" prefix of old for a more mature "-rock" suffix, leaving the sterile end product sounding less like The Buzzcocks and more like Bryan Adams. And while the band still offers up a couple catchy keyhole glimpses of their earlier spirit ("Sit and Shake", "Public Transportation"), The Figgs sound like Band #35,873 that's existed long past their expiration date. 'Tis a harsh sentence to pass on the band who taught me how to mosh, but unfortunately for The Figgs, we're all a bit older and less excitable these days.
