The West Virginia quartet Rozwell Kid play power pop that recalls Weezer—their most frequently cited influence by far—as much as the sitcom humor of early Fountains of Wayne or Teenage Fanclub’s fuzzed-out jangle. But as with any band who has earned a Weezer comparison, its persistence owes to a collective desire to see someone fill a dwindling role: lovable and nerdy, melodic but not pop, fluent in hair metal tropes without coming off as ironic. Based on those specs, Rozwell Kid fit the profile more than just about any other band in existence. After identifying their strengths over three albums, Precious Art is Rozwell Kid’s first high-profile release—the kind of album that could make prospective new fans wonder just where this band has been all their lives.
Up until now, it took seeing Rozwell Kid live to truly get them. Over the past three years, they’ve opened for just about every single critically-acclaimed pop-punk or emo band in existence, and the simplicity of their hooks has offered a contrast. When playing with the Hotelier or the World Is a Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid to Die, Rozwell Kid songs like “Kangaroo Pocket” and “Magic Eye” spoke for uncomplicated singalongs. And even among similarly straightforward bands, Rozwell Kid came off as significantly less aggro—their second LP was named Unmacho, after all. In 2016, they were the middle act in a run with Charly Bliss and PUP and strangely enough, Precious Art opener “Wendy’s Trash Can” is the exact midpoint between the respective leadoff tracks on those bands’ most recent albums. On it, Rozwell Kid frontman Jordan Hudkins hops in a getaway car but can’t escape the tyrannical boredom of touring, and yet, there isn’t a shred of angst or aggression among the Brit-pop harmonies and double-guitar leads. There is, however, at least three hooks sticky enough to last 10 hours, with or without the actual 10-hour version of the song.
Tensions and emotions run high throughout Precious Art, but the stakes do not. Hudkins recently translated the entire album through GIFs; a dramatic piano ballad presumably soundtracks their fruitless search for a parking space at SXSW. Not a single thing on the album qualifies as unequivocally happy, though every shiftless, aimless, or hopeless moment is deflected by food metaphors, semi-ephemera of the 1990s, and blinding melodies that never strive to become ego-driven anthems. Anyone who demands that rock bands act, look, or sound cool even in the slightest probably won’t make it five seconds through “Booger”—a very graphic account of Hudkins’ songs-for-the-dumped emotional bottom. Those that do are treated to a minute-long interlude that exists solely for a punchline that allows Hudkins to bark like a dog.
Rozwell Kid’s humor could be divisive, even when it’s less slapstick. Maybe Hudkins’ life—as depicted in these songs—really is an endless battle of countering depression with “SeaQuest” reruns, MadTV, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Wendy’s, omelets, and velvet blacklight posters. But Rozwell Kid’s attempts to replicate the quintessence of their most frequently quoted lyric—“‘Simpsons’ season three and a thing of hummus/This is all I need/I’m, like, super low-maintenance”—can feel like pandering by the time Hudkins sings, “all I want is to be at home with you/eatin’ tacos and watching UHF on DVD” on what’s otherwise a triumphant lead single. It could very well be his truth, but it can’t help but sound like an attempt at a “quirky” Tinder bio.
The gifts of Precious Art are more apparent when comedy shades the melody instead of overshadowing it. That isn’t to say that Rozwell Kid need to get serious—Hudkins’ self-deprecation adds grit to the bubblegum of “Blow It,” “Total Mess,” and “Boomerang.” And yet, the most serious song on Precious Art results in the only one that really does sound like Weezer. Rozwell Kid close out the festivities with a nearly six-minute power ballad that touches on familial discord like “Say It Ain’t So” (“your parents never seem to care”) and the dynamic indulgences of “Only in Dreams.” Yet, it’s still very much a Rozwell Kid song. For one, its title is “Michael Keaton” and the last few minutes are filled with harmonized guitar solos and multiple false endings designed for the sustained guitar poses that have won over drunken crowds for the past decade. It’s their version of art, but they’re not going to get precious about it.
