Like pretty much every band linked to the "emo revival" of the past several years, Sheffield duo Nai Harvest has tried to talk their way out of it. In an interview from last year, guitarist/vocalist Ben Thompson shrugged, "I don’t want to be picked up as an emo band in 2014 and then thrown on the floor when it’s not a trendy thing to like or talk about anymore." The connotations and stereotypes behind that term are still a contentious hot topic (no pun intended), so it's in their best interests to keep a distance. But it was merely part of Nai Harvest’s larger concern of being pigeonholed in any way; upon shifting to a grungier, more '90s-indebted sound on EP Hold Open My Head, Nai Harvest stated they didn’t want to be classified as grunge or '90s-revival either. Though Hairball is far slicker and focused than their previous work, Nai Harvest's requests are still likely to fall on deaf ears: you’re more likely to misrepresent them if you don’t talk about the '90s.
As with their debut Whatever, it’s an enjoyable listen because of its lack of innovation, rather than in spite of it. But back in 2013, Nai Harvest at least had novelty going for them: It was refreshing to hear guitarists take notes from American Football and Mineral after two straight decades of indie rock more or less acting like Pavement, My Bloody Valentine, Dinosaur Jr. and Sonic Youth were the only bands to exist in the '90s. However, Thompson’s twiddly, Kinsella-esque guitar figures of the past have fully given way to fuzzy, jangly open chords. Lew Currie’s zig-zagging, stop-start rhythms have now been aligned to straight-ahead sprints and brisk jogs—think of a more raw Teenage Fanclub or a punkier Ash, but certainly not any bands from the American Midwest.
And it does give Hairball a much broader appeal than Whatever. Freed from knotty progressions, Thompson can draw out his vocals in a nasal bray accentuated by a trebly, distorted mic—think of Liam Gallagher fronting the sort of modest UK indie band that Noel might scorn in print because they didn’t aspire to play Wembley. That said, Nai Harvest does have populist ambitions, as evidenced by the production of Bob Cooper, who previously worked with Empire of the Sun and Sky Ferreira. It’s an extreme stretch to recognize his influence without checking the credits first—there’s nothing at all glam about Hairball. It is, however, stylishly tousled, greasy and glossy in a way that makes you think "Hairball" would work as an ironic name for an expensive gel.
When Nai Harvest are at their most edgy and brash, "Spin" and "Sick on My Heart" provide a legitimate buzz, just the right amount of bubblegum grunge, tart pop-punk and hi-fi enough production. Which could translate to "alt" or "1995", though there’s a more contemporary precedent, as Nai Harvest situate themselves in the six-month span in 2010 between Wavves’ King of the Beach and Cloud Nothings’ self-titled album.
But the comparisons become less flattering and more revealing as Hairball goes forward. Dylan Baldi cannot stop writing indelible hooks, while Nathan Williams’ personality always manages to emerge whether his records sound like an oxidized cassette or a million dollars. Nai Harvest...well, they don’t like to be confined, but that’s something that comes across more clearly in their interviews. With barely any deviation in tempo, tone or texture, Hairball just wads up into an indistinguishable mass: Thompson’s vocals predictably trace over the chord progressions or they just double lead riffs. Throughout, he’s bummed about something or other, girls, growing up, himself—it's all part of the same malaise.
"Ocean of Madness" is the standout by default, since it has an actual bassline and an appealing, "Semi-Charmed Life"-style cadence in its bridge. But just when it appears that Nai Harvest has set itself up for the big score, Thompson offers this as the chorus: "Don’t let me drown in an ocean of madness/ I wanna swim in an ocean of you." This may be the first revelation of Thompson’s songwriting personality, as "Gimme Gimme" shows a similar sweet tooth for cloying power-pop. But when he sings, "gimme gimme your sugar joy," it doesn't feel like sincerity, but that most unfortunate of '90s influences: sarcasm. Hairball is certainly an evolution for Nai Harvest, but it’s tough to really call it progress.
