Long live Fugazi. Sometimes, Dischord Records just seems like a wacky, dysfunctional family-- despite the understanding and benevolent leadership of its flagship band, the youngsters bristle and either fly away to more lucrative record deals or fizzle out with little in the way of Epitaph. Fugazi travels with undeniable clout. You just don't mess with them. And it's hard for younger bands to avoid getting caught up in vicarious charisma and stand with any sort of equal footing in the greater musical community. I believe whole-heartedly that this is unintentional, but the subliminal message is: don't even try it. The plight of the metaphorical Dischord scions is pretty much equal to that of any celebrity child. It's an uphill battle-- not only to prove your worth, but to prove your worth relative to Fugazi.
Perhaps it was a deep sense of foreboding that kept the Capitol City Dusters at bay for almost four years. Their last album, Simplicity, received scant critical praise-- though it must have sold well, because it can be found in almost every used bin across this crazy land. Still, the album garnered them enough attention that any band name involving the word 'Dusters' got scratched off potential bandname lists in garages nationwide.
And the Capitol City Dusters sound like a good idea, in theory. Alec Bourgeois (guitarist/vocalist from Severin), Benjamin Azzara (original drummer of the Delta 72), and at least two sort of recognizable bass players before the current Jesse Quitslund (of the Vile Cherubs) are all devoted to bringing the rock in a way only D.C. bands with ties to Dischord can bring the rock. In short, they're light on the debauchery, heavy on the angular riffs.
Does it sound like Fugazi? Well, yes, sort of. You can hear the influence-- in fact, you can't escape the influence. The first track, "Superimposed," starts out sounding like an In on the Kill Taker reject, complete with driving single-note guitar, creative drumming and Ian-esque vocals. The sudden onslaught of guitars at the chorus sounds suspiciously recognizable. On the other hand, in an attempt to distance themselves from their obvious influences, the Dusters throw in some really weird structural effects. Halfway through "Superimposed," the song morphs into jangly R.E.M.-sounding alterna-pop (even down to Bourgeois' voice, which sounds eerily like Michael Stipe). From this point on, the album pretty much vacillates between the poppy vein, with recognizable 1-4-5 major-key chord progressions, sing-along verses, and lyrics like "You said it wasn't all that great in your bed."
The Dusters drift back to more prototypical Dischord territory in songs like "Reason," in which the listener discovers that there is, in fact, "a season to live in Washington." Those cherry trees are lovely in the spring, but in the same song, Bourgeois admits "we fall divided." Meaning, we assume, the drummer is keener on autumn strolls along the Potomac.
To be perfectly honest, much of this album sounds pretty silly to me. The pop to angular post-punk angle doesn't necessary lend credibility when your singer occasionally decides to ape Iggy Pop when singing about having a "heart like a revolutionary." I tried listening to Rock Creek as deliberately tongue-in-cheek, but I don't think that's the case. Of course, I'm always willing to admit I'm wrong. Come tomorrow I could find out this is concept album inspired by the National Zoo (located in Rock Creek Park). If that's the case, the chorus lyric in the title track, "I'll make my mark here in Rock Creek Park," could have some pretty hairy implications, especially when coupled with the later sentiment, "I won't deny the undead." So they can't write lyrics. Big fucking deal, right?
The final track, "Freedom"-- which, with its dirge-like tempo, half-assed attempts at harmonies, big anthemic chorus, and relationship-tinged lyrics could be considered something of a power ballad-- is really all you need to hear. It sounds boring and incomplete, like fifty songs you've heard before. And here's the worst part: my guess is that your fifty songs would be different than mine. That's just how typical this is.
So either Dischord needs to change its D.C.-only policy or provide a sudden influx of struggling musicians with affordable housing to enliven their catalog. If any of you were counting on Capitol City Dusters to lead a D.C. renaissance, you'd best be staking your claims elsewhere.
