For one week out of the year, Austin sheds its neo-hippie facade and reveals itself to be (SURPRISE!) the cultural apex of western civilization. Though commonly referred to as "cha-CHINNNNGGG!" by a handful of Texan economists, this event is more often known as South-by-Southwest; a temporary musical mecca that easily justifies the thousands of nerdy pilgrimages it inspires. It seems that the concentrated ambience even strikes a few ne'er-to-do politicians as profound, because every year local legislature imposes a city-wide moratorium on driving with your windows rolled up. This, in effect, turns your stereo selections into high decibel calls for potential friends and mates and also exposes that cute blonde in the next lane for the Shawn Mullins fan she really is. That said, it's also worth noting that pretending your six o'clock traffic jam is really a Wayne Coyne-directed parking lot experiment really helps to pass the time.
Seeing as the ratio of P.R. representatives-to-actual fans is a good 9-to-1, it's no surprise that each coming year charts new levels of frenzied hype. Some of the press releases range from moronic ("They Might Be Giants MIGHT BE ready for an Underground Renaissance") to silly ("The Shins: What Johnny Rotten would sound like if he went emo") to stuff warranting an A&R; exorcism ("With her latest offering, Abra Moore clearly defines herself as the next Radiohead"). This year, I wanted to forego all of that and subject myself to the brutal punishment of Japan's Acid Mothers Temple. I wanted to grasp Makoto Kawabata's extended hand as he took me on a tour of our pulsing ultra-violet universe, replete with its space coyotes and floating dojos. Where did I end up? Back in 1997, trying to reidentify with Scott McCloud and convincing my dyslexic friend Jake, who had read GVSB's acronym on the club's marquee, that Rob Pollard wasn't going to be making any appearances. Seriously, the whole network's gonna go down. Hey, have you seen Hackers?
Suffice to say, Girls Against Boys were cooler when their music seemed a dangerous cocktail of post-punk and pre-millenial tension. Regardless of whether You Can't Fight What You Can't See is a return to form (which, in all respects, it is), it's hard to argue that the great alternative-industrial rock irony of 'chronicling-the-evils-of-technology-by-means-of-utilizing-technology' didn't go the way of the Tamagotchi and that "21st Century Digital Boy" song.
Operating on the premise that, with the exception of 1998's Geffen calamity FreakOnIca, Girls Against Boys haven't drastically changed their formula since their 1989 debut Tropic of Scorpio, it's safe to say that the band knows their sound inside-and-out. And what you've heard is all true: You Can't Fight What You Can't See cans the discotheque disaster and returns the guys to their original sound. A wise decision undoubtedly, but it seems now that the band is terrified of change, leaving them to rehash what their first five albums accomplished in lieu of actual progression. And as anyone could tell you, if there's something Girls Against Boys need now more than ever, it's to change anything. See, they had the right intentions with FreakOnIca, they just went about it all wrong. And now, post-backlash, they're not going about it at all.
The style is unmistakably dated now, and the 'grooves' constructed throughout You Can't Fight What You Can't See attempt only to reinstill the same hedonistic impetus as on their oversexed 1996 release House of GVSB. Never mind that the group has already successfully approximated that sound, as documented on that album's "Disco Six Six Six" (not to mention Cruise Yourself's "The Royal Lowdown"). But, while GvsB has always distinguished themselves from the crowds of would-be sonic revolutionaries crying "MOLOCH!" by lyrically excluding all listeners not affiliated with the rave scene, here the band manages to break new lows for ecstacy-tinged, Underworld-inspired speak/sing rants: "I keep pushing/ Pushing in like an obsession/ Like an addiction/ Keep pushing..."
Of course, You Can't Fight What You Can't See, like most albums, does have a few spare moments of seemingly inspired performance. "All the Rage," despite its standard piss-poor lyrical content, ranks amongst the better songs on their last three albums, and "Kicking the Lights" finds the band experimenting with texture moreso than ever before. The rest? Just flip back through their catalog and imagine what those songs would sound like with crisper production and less inspiration. Indeed, there's not much here to love, which just leaves one to wonder if history will remember any of Girls Against Boys' records beyond 1994's Venus Luxure No. 1 Baby. God knows I won't.
