It's incredibly easy to say "forget everything you know about Bombay Bicycle Club," when they really haven't established much of an identity to begin with. But I'll try to sum it up: If you've ever wondered what might happen if Editors were fronted by a freak-folk singer, by all means pick up their debut. Meanwhile, on last year's mostly acoustic soft parade Flaws, they sounded like they'd get their lunch money stolen by Kings of Convenience. I suppose their sales inspired more patience from Island than their art, but on A Different Kind of Fix, they follow in the proud tradition of Snow Patrol's Final Straw and Travis' The Man Who, wherein a band links up with a hotshot producer, ditches a trad-indie sound that just wasn't working, and discovers its destiny churning out soft-serve sweetness that completely neutralizes your critical reasoning skills. I'm fairly certain the same impulse that triggers my desire for an Oreo McFlurry makes me want to listen to A Different Kind of Fix.
It's more likely that Bombay Bicycle Club sought out producer Ben H. Allen than the other way around-- after all, BBC have dutifully namedropped Allen clients Animal Collective and Deerhunter as big influences leading up to the release of Fix. Yeah, it's 2011 and just discovering those bands is just another aspect of BBC that seems so easy to make fun of before they totally disarm you: While nothing here will make you say, "yeah, total 'Summertime Clothes' moment," they've opted out of "quiet is the new loud" by investing themselves in the elemental songwriting aspects of America's indie elite: repetition is the new chorus, texture is the new volume.
And indeed, Apple might need to take a long look at Allen as a product designer if they haven't found a worthy successor for Steve Jobs-- as with Merriweather Post Pavilion, Halcyon Digest, and especially Washed Out's Within and Without, Allen gets a sound that's sleek, bold, and covetable, yet within the price range of the young and upwardly mobile. The easy lilt of Jack Steadman's vocals (thankfully shorn of his prior melismatic fringe) gives Fix enough humanity and extroverted charm to keep it from being a mere showcase for Allen's production tricks, but the depth of the low-end and a prudent amount of abrasive grit imparts a three-dimensionality that saves BBC from getting pushed around like any band that could reasonably be compared to early Coldplay.
Sure, the guitars on "Bad Timing" are thickly distorted, and the drums get a digital makeover into machinery, but it doesn't exactly rock-- it just asserts itself the right amount where a Steadman solo performance would be content to play the wall. The point of "Lights Out, Words Gone" isn't to praise BBC for apparently owning a Talking Heads record, or writing the catchiest Foals song Foals didn't actually write-- it's to lose yourself in the luxurious gulf between the band's vaporous harmonies and the glassy, yacht-funk riffs. The title of "Shuffle" might just be an indication of whose ad dollars Fix has in its crosshairs, and it could very well get there. BBC make full use of a stammering piano loop for both melodic and percussive purposes, and Steadman's vocals tumble over handclaps and layered harmonies in a manner that becomes subtly unstoppable instead of mawkish.
And Fix is all about accumulative properties, little bits and pieces that add up to way more than it should. "How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep" seems genial enough in its first minute-- a blindingly clean guitar riff providing an acoustic sunrise while Steadman somnolently delivers the same line the same way ("Can I wake you up/ Is it late enough") for nearly the song's entirety before an EQ-tweaked drum break sets things in motion. Frankly, you wonder what something this sparkly and chipper was doing on a Twilight soundtrack, but the sonic color is secondary to BBC and Allen playing off each other's skills in service of a certain kind of emotional "click" that's certainly in that franchise's demographic. I can't speak much for the actual biochemical workings, but at its best, Fix strikes that point where, "oh, they're cute" hits a groove in your mind and gets looped into total infatuation. After its three and a half minutes run out, not much has changed about "How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep" except maybe your way of looking at it.
But there's something faintly troubling about A Different Kind of Fix even in light of its success: While the songs are wildly improved, I still can't say there's much of a discernible identity. How much of Bombay Bicycle Club are you actually getting here? Steadman's lyrics and the band's tasteful playing convey, above all else, a kind of utilitarian earnestness endemic to young Brits with acoustics writing about girls and feelings. And you might find some of these hooks creeping up on you when you least expect it-- whistling the melody to "Lights Out, Words Gone" while buying groceries, realizing how deeply the riff of "Your Eyes" burrowed into your consciousness. But just as easily, it can pass right by you as you're actually listening to it, and the closing piano howler "Still" serves notice that they've still got an awkward sweet tooth or two left to extract. And maybe this stands out on account of filling a real void. Prior to the Strokes and the Libertines, this is often what UK guitar bands sounded like-- unabashedly cuddly, a little cloying, and in thrall with even the most rudimentary facets of electronic music. But hell, this is called A Different Kind of Fix and not The Shape of British Rock to Come for a reason: whether you're totally nostalgic for a time when Turin Brakes loomed large or just hoping that the Maccabees and the Vaccines might have a decent album in them at some point, BBC are your pushers.
