Film School's new self-titled atmospheric-rock effort isn't a debut, but it might as well be. Since originating in 1998 as essentially a solo project, the San Francisco outfit has swelled to a quintet, trading in the rotating cast of players from 2001's A Brilliant Career (which included ex-Pavement guitarist Scott Kannberg) for a steady lineup. Like many proper debuts, Film School comes on the back of well-received demos and EPs, and it finds a band shaping an anthemic presence-- in this case, brooding post-goth awash in layered shoegaze squalls-- even if the anthems aren't quite there yet.
Despite a debt to such early-90s Brits as Slowdive, Film School's basis in the gloomier undercurrents of the current 80s-revival zeitgeist provides an easy retort to the misguided "too soon" complaints that met fellow Valentine-bloodiers like Ambulance Ltd., Skywave, and Serena Maneesh. The biggest departure from Brilliant Career, "11:11", rattles with a hip-jerking Joy Division or Interpol riff, while first single "On & On" sweeps from dark Echo & the Bunnymen dreamscapes to skittering hi-hats and crumbling guitars. Faster tunes like "Harmed", "Pitfalls", and especially "Breet" share deceptively bouncy guitar lines with the Cure or stellastarr* amid the murk and cinematic distortion.
At times, Film School achieve a foggy, grandiose psychedelia, but their compositions aren't always as shimmering as their production. Ethereal near-ballads "He's a Deep, Deep Lake" and "Sick of the Shame" are portentous in scale, spreading out over dramatic dynamic shifts and indistinct lyrics, but neither quite earns its five-minute-plus length. Elsewhere, the backward-looping effects and swirling keyboards of the untitled opener and two-minute near-instrumental "Garrison" pale beside the more ambitious use of similar elements on Blur's "Caramel" or Talk Talk's "New Grass".
This diversity makes Film School difficult to pigeonhole, and that's to their advantage even when the results still don't blaze trails. Penultimate "Like You Know" starts with gossamer noise before a prominent acoustic guitar places its wistful sentiment somewhere between "Range Life" and Elbow. Another of Film School's stronger songs is finale "P.S.", a retread from 2003's Alwaysnever EP that floats a lazy Casio between the stuttering do-do's of founding member Krayg Burton, whose nonchalant Northern California mumbles conjure an unironic Stephen Malkmus. "I'll end with a perfect splash today," Burton sings, diving into an overdriven guitar coda that hints at post-graduate promise.
