This is an actual line from one of the songs on Vermont's Calling Albany. Actually, it's not just one line, it's the chorus. I just wanted to get it out there in the open for all to see, and get it away from its buffering support system-- all the other lame, just-barely passable lyrics on the album-- so it can be publicly humiliated. Who actually sits down and puts words like these on paper, scratches their chin, and says, "Yeah!"?
Davey Von Bohlen and Dan Didier from the Promise Ring and Chris Rosenau from Pele, that's who. This is the trio's second album, and after forcing myself through it a few times, here's hoping Vermont's members start spending a lot more time at their day jobs right quick. Not that I was ever much of a fan of the Promise Ring or Pele, but considering that this sounds nothing like either of them, I don't think it's a issue.
Judging from the cliché-ridden lyrics showcased here, I can understand why so much Promise Ring material I remember hearing was so terse. Or maybe the bad lyrics were always there, buried under the sugar-sweet pop banality. Regardless, this is not the case with Vermont. The sparse, often acoustic musical backdrop pushes the lyrics to the fore, and, to put it plainly, they don't hold up well under the increased scrutiny. The melodramatic posturing and self-pity that was kept (more) in check in the Promise Ring is given free reign with Vermont, and nearly every song title is a heavy-handed attempt at a pun or some other half-assed witticism, which makes the ultra-serious vocal delivery and stark instrumentation even more annoying.
Besides the above quoted nadir, there are a few other noteworthy low points on Calling Albany. To start from the bottom, there's a (near) cover of the Commodores' "Three Times a Lady" nestled within a song called "Commodores 64." Done up all singer/songwriterly, the slow jam classic becomes a maudlin joke. Now's a good time to remind Vermont that we're not in the High Age of Slacker Irony anymore; the days of the Cardigans covering Sabbath are long gone (and surely even these guys can appreciate that). These days, people just don't get away with this kind of thing unless a little something extra is brought to the table.
On "Chlorine Chlorine," we're given the standard emo-rock workout while being told, "I like books better than movies" (gee, smart and sensitive-- do I smell a "Gilmore Girls" guest shot?), and the untitled fourth songs (denoted by a red dot on the sleeve) is an adolescence tale of striving for independence from Mom and Dad while lamenting anonymity at the local coffeeshop. Then there's the opener, "Bells of Saint Alcohol," Vermont's stab at creating some kind of rote emo-country sub-genre. With a slow, rambling tempo and accordion support, the music is nice enough, but add the lyrics to the mix and it sound like castrated Bright Eyes. At best.
I could only recommend Calling Albany to someone if they were really, really hard up for something new from Pedro the Lion, but even then I couldn't do it with an absolute clear conscience. As for everyone else, I insist you stay as far away from this record as possible.
