On an episode of "WTF With Marc Maron", Mikal Cronin spoke about the scene he, Ty Segall, and Charles Moothart came up in during high school. As he explained it, he would throw parties at his parents' house in Laguna Beach, and their small circle of musician friends would write songs and start bands specifically for the events. Different combinations of the same people were getting together and exploring different vibes. "You guys still do that," Maron observed. And he's right. This year alone, Segall has been juggling several projects. His circle of friends and collaborators (Moothart, Meatbodies' Chad Ubovich, Wand's Cory Hanson, Thee Oh Sees' John Dwyer, and Cronin) all tend to have multiple irons in the fire.
Those high school bands weren't focused on long-term sustainability; they were momentary sparks of creative energy. To this day, the best moment in the life of any new Segall project is the first spark. The introductory taste of new music from these bands offers the opportunity to parse how aesthetic and personnel differences define the music—to hear what separates it from prior work, what makes it exciting, and what the chances are that the project will outlive the confines of a 7". Segall and Moothart's band Fuzz made a strong first impression with their debut 2012 single "Fuzz's Fourth Dream". It was a showcase for Moothart's guitar solo mastery, the band's stellar hook work, the effortless way they can slink into a groove, and Segall's ace drumming. With 2013's Fuzz, the proto-metal-worshipping power trio became a proven entity—a well-oiled machine with a few strong songs. The lineup now features Ubovich, and if you only take into account his impressive work as Meatbodies' frontman, it seems Fuzz have only become more powerful.
Fuzz's second full-length, II, is a double album—a ballsy and potentially dangerous move for a band who operate best when their songs are kept tight. Their Fuzz track "Loose Sutures", for example, went a bit too loose and lost its momentum about halfway in. More than half of II's songs are over four minutes long, and the longest one of the bunch is the most disappointing of them all. The final 14-minute track, "II", is an obligatory instrumental sequel to Fuzz's instrumental closer "One". Where "One" ramps up the power and velocity of its central hook, "II" never quite figures out exactly where it's going. It changes course several times, and along the way, a question emerges—how much Fuzz is too much?
It's a bum note to end on, but before they reach that final song, Fuzz knock out some undeniable high points in their discography. Ubovich's bass provides the perfect dour counterbalance to Segall's dulcet vocal on "Let It Live". There's a premium on heaviness, and "Pollinate" certainly delivers the thudding, crashing goods. And if Fuzz occasionally felt too spare, II is where they throw everything at the wall. All three men play synthesizers, and in a few well-placed moments, they've got string arrangements courtesy of Laena Geronimo. They often change pace—tempo, emphasis, texture—at the moment a song begins to feel stale.
It also helps that they're the rare band where any of the three members could serve as the frontman. While Segall's voice is undeniably the most impressive, Moothart and Ubovich come across more gritty and grounded—perfect for songs about "teeth twisting in the heatwave." It's also refreshing to hear Fuzz bucking their former formula—their "lead singers take turns" approach goes out the window on "Burning Wreath", which features Segall and Moothart trading lines and briefly harmonizing. It's a small moment, but one that hints at how much this band are capable of when you consider how much talent they have between them.
That's why it's disappointing when, around the album's third side, Fuzz's songs begin to feel anonymous—like they're retreading ground they'd already covered earlier in the album. Segall, Moothart, and Ubovich have done an impressive job of nailing this sound, and somewhere in the stoner rock sprawl, they have enough impressive moments and great songs for a truly strong album that's about half as long. They just don't do quite enough to differentiate their approach or justify the album's 67-minute run-time. There are definitely instances of them changing things up—"Red Flag" is a two-minute punk song on an album that benefits from brief interstitials. Even considering all the high points and raw power, II falters under the weight of the band's ambition.
