If you’ve resolved every resentment you’ve carried from high school, are in a conflict-free relationship with your significant other, and have not taken a minute in the past few months trying to figure out in literal terms what the fuck is wrong with you people*?*, then by all means, carry on. There’s nothing to see here. Since most of you stuck around, let’s consider Balance & Composure’s second LP The Things We Think We’re Missing. The Doylestown, Penn., quintet have made an unapologetically old-school alt-rock album of jet-engine guitars, impotent rat-in-a-cage rage, and searing, soaring vocals-- it isn’t about teen angst, it just sounds like it. As such, this record looks to fill a void for people seeking popular rock music more stylish and emotive than, say, Avenged Sevenfold, but aren’t really in a position to opt out into counterculture. In other words, it’s “alternative rock” in exact terms and nothing about this will make you feel cool or more connected to the zeitgeist. It’s even better if you don’t care about that shit at all, so the only question is, are Balance & Composure good at what they do?
On lead single “Reflection”, the answer is tacitly an emphatic fuck yeah, though I don’t sense that emphatic positivity is something it would cop to. But as a genre piece, it’s damn near perfect. Upon hearing it, a colleague of mine with more refined tastes said, “I’ve never felt that way in my entire life.” It’s a testament to “Reflection” when that way can be identified so quickly. There’s no conflict here, just pubescent confusion of encountering growth and emotions you don’t have the ability to process. A gorgeous lead riff from Andrew Slaymaker (real name, no gimmicks) introduces “Reflection” and is bodyslammed into altered shapes by two pounding chords. Meanwhile, Jon Simmons’ despondent vocals are softened with slightly flat harmonies-- he can’t decide whether to be feared or to be loved or whether he’s just in fear of being loved. A drum roll leads to what sounds like what should be a chorus of epic emotional venting, yet the band effectively renders the straightjacket of one’s self by thrashing in place. As far as the lyrics go, they’re filled with self-loathing, envy, judgment, anger, fear, pretty much everything that registers as a character defect to an adult. And yet “Reflection” reminds you of how those qualities can feel like survival skills at an age when every social setting feels like a warzone.
It’s a powerful formula and one B&C wisely try to replicate throughout The Things We Think We’re Missing. There’s a strange quirk where it sounds like the band is trying out new guises in two-song chunks: during the opening duo of “Parachutes” and “Lost Your Name”, B&C are a plutonium-powered emo band relying more on force than finesse, on slowly cresting melodies and sustained vocal howls rather than sharp hooks. They’re inversions of Sunny Day Real Estate’s “Circles”, forgoing grunge dynamics entirely by lunging out of your speakers and using the chorus as respite before another tidal push. They provide an easy segue into the more traditionally structured, car-friendly hooks of “Back of Your Head” and “Tiny Raindrop” and as Things progresses, B&C have subtly involved into a band that learned enough from their heroes to troubleshoot some of their mistakes. “When I Come Undone” asks what if the Cure’s Ross Robinson-produced album wasn’t some kind of forced primal scream therapy? What if Billy Corgan realized that he could rock a trenchcoat, pancake makeup, and a Stratocaster at the same time during his goth phase? Enjoy “I’m Swimming” and forget Silversun Pickups ever existed.
That said, The Things We Think We’re Missing is overwhelming four minutes at a time, galvanizing in 10 minute spans, and utterly exhausting taken as a whole. There are cracks in the brick wall of radio-adjusted compression-- hints of acoustic jangle peek through the stormy romanticism of “Tiny Raindrop”, “Ella” and “Cut Me Open” incorporate reverberating drone, and while the acoustic solo performance of “Dirty Head” works against just about every single strength of B&C, it’s probably what they meant when acknowledging the influence of Neutral Milk Hotel. Problem is they’re all mastered at the same extremely loud volume, negating the idea that Things is a record meant to be listened to sequentially rather than strip-mined for singles.
Simmons encounters similar issues with flexibility and nuance as a vocalist. When he’s going full blast, his tone articulates more than his actual words and standard issue angst (“I need a spark to light this house so dark and deep”) detonates into nuclear catharsis. When he tones down his delivery, a bratty, nasal edge puts an unfortunate spotlight on lyrics that draw from the usual sources for sensitive dude poetry-- Morrissey’s auto eroticism (the night drive fantasies of “When I Come Undone” and “Tiny Raindrop”), Microsoft Word thesaurus (“I need you on my garments/ come at me horrid eyes that seep into my system”) and Robert Smith’s playful surrealism, only without the playful part. The most wincing lyric here (“I’m the spider in your room/ and I got eight eyes all on you”) is taken from a song whose title projects the emotional tenor of the entire record: “Notice Me”.
It’s understandable, since B&C are in a position where they do have to beg for recognition. The Things We Think We’re Missing is a strong alt-rock album when such a thing is about the least fashionable thing imaginable, and its practitioners and fans are largely ignored-- their sonic ideals about punk and indie are sourced from Nirvana, but at a time when the platinum polish of Nevermind has become weirdly undervalued compared to the more ethically admirable In Utero. It carries on the tradition of alt-rock records that were crucial entry points for young listeners while being scoffed at by their older siblings: Siamese Dream, the Cure albums that got MTV airplay, Foo Fighters’ The Colour & The Shape. Not to mention their modern analogues, Deftones’ White Pony, Brand New’s The Devil and God Are Raging Inside of Me, Thursday’s A City By The Light Divided, artful and ambitious heavy pop-rock albums that respectively transcended three genres that triangulate B&C’s coordinates (nu-metal, pop-punk, emo and/or screamo) and were still treated with hostility if not ignored entirely by ostensibly open-minded indie rock fans based on prior reputation. B&C aren’t at that level, but considering the leap they’ve made from their pedestrian debut Separation, The Things We Think We’re Missing serves notice that we shouldn't be surprised if they get there.
