When they got together in 2009, Amy Franz and Hayley McKee of Super Wild Horses could barely play. But Fifteen, the debut from the Melbourne duo, dispenses with all notions of not-so-willful amateurishness, shaky playing, and half-there hooks. Instead, it offers a dozen sing-songy bashers, blasted out with a confidence well beyond their years. With melody to spare and an enviable amount of restraint, Super Wild Horses make Fifteen sound less like the work of a couple of newbies, and more like a pair of old pros who've learned enough to figure out what they can get away with forgetting.
Fifteen swings from a punkish thwack to a garage-rock strut, but it's got the feel of a scuzzy alt-rock record, with loose-fitting hooks and craggy guitars. McKee and Franz have a kind of multiplying effect when they start smearing their voices atop each other. The diffuse buzz of the music combined with their push-and-pull on the mic can at times feel so familiar, it's almost familial: Super Wild Horses can and do play like a spinier, far less stoney version of the last couple of Breeders LPs. There's an uncanny beauty that comes when they lock their voices in sync that brings to mind the Deal sisters. And like the Breeders in the last decade, they keep the hooks back, and melodies arrive at intersections rather than announcing themselves out front. Vocal similarities aside, both bands take offhandedness to new heights.
Fifteen's first half is its hookiest. "Lock & Key" knocks in the door, but the title track swings roughly, "Mess Around" threatens convincingly, and "Adrian" pleads with palpable longing. The exuberant vocal back-and-forth has kind of a schoolyard charm to it, but lyrically, they cut some standard teenage themes-- unrequited crushes, small-town escapism-- with a refreshingly flip attitude. And for all their pining, they're not afraid to get weird or abstract or downright blasphemous when the mood strikes. For every diaristic "is he really going out with her?" bit, there are a couple more slices of this goofy indignation that suggests a couple of very funny, subversive minds at work. The album reads more like the margins of a notebook-- stray thoughts, decent jokes, the kind of stuff you half-hope somebody sneaks a glance at.
Just short of the halfway mark, Fifteen's punchier, more garage-indebted side gives way to an alt-rock haze. The garagey stuff's more fun, but these are impressive songs-- impressionistic and a bit lopsided, they manage to make two voices, one drumkit, one guitar, a touch of keyboard, and a stompbox sound like a lot more people doing a lot more work. Things seem to crash into each other just so, leaving shards of melody everywhere. One simply doesn't arrive at such a sound by accident. In 26 short minutes, Fifteen gets a lot done, and has a hell of a time doing it. They may not have been at it for long, but they're already leaving peers in the dust.
