Within the first 30 seconds of “Finally", the opening song on Connections’ debut LP, Private Airplane, it’s clear that somewhere-- between seats in the van, underneath an coffee cup at the practice space-- the band is holding onto a copy of Guided By Voices’ Bee Thousand that’s so worn down from repeated plays that at this point, it’s more ashtray than album. It’s not just that the song’s opening chords project a similar arena-rock-on-basement-resources mindset; it’s also the execution of the melodies, the one-minute run time, and the slight affectation of a British accent.
Connections is a group of Columbus, Ohio underground rock lifers. Singer Kevin Elliott and guitarist Andy Hampel’s high school band, 84 Nash, was the first non-GBV-affiliated act to see release on Rockathon Records. Elliott’s brother, Adam, played drums and sang in the now-dormant noise-pop trio Times New Viking and guitarist Dave Capaldi played in the post-punk band El Jesus de Magico.
Private Airplane is about as good a pass at 90s-style guitar rock as you’re liable to get anywhere outside of that decade. Jetting through 15 songs in just under 30 minutes, the record is undiluted by stinkers, throwaways, or noodly psychedelic interludes. It’s all hooks all the way through. A few songs even compete with themselves to deliver cathartic, sing-along-able moments. If you can only pick one part to shout out in the car during "1980 Called", is it the chorus, the pre-chorus, or the part where Elliott just lists the album titles Pink Flag and Scarecrow? All three are simple melodies, delivered with sufficient conviction.
The vintage GBV comparisons only extend so far. Connections are also well versed in the work of 80s Cleveland power-pop band the Mice, and they slot in well fellow alongside contemporary Midwestern skronk purveyors, such as Tyvek. The production on Private Airplane is gritty, but not to the extent that the noise value becomes a defining characteristic of the band’s sound. It’s blown out enough to add an extra layer of urgency, but not so much that your ears bleed trying to hear the words. And as a lyricist, Elliott favors concrete narratives over surrealist word games. He writes the cool kind of love songs-- the kind that deal with unrequited crushes on somebody that's bad news, or even just a bad fit. On “Mall Lights”, he longs to connect with the downstairs neighbor. “In time, I sleep under bridges in your mind,” he sings. “At least I’m socializing with your kind.”
Elliott regularly namedrops Ohio cities and landmarks in song, but the specific place names don’t matter much. It's more that they help to set the scene outside of mainstream locales. “When we hit Enon, we’ll pack a bowl in your Pontiac, Pontiac Armstrong,” he sings on “Totally Carpool”. “Why go back if it only brings you down?” It’s a song about Ohio, but once the dingy power chords drop in, it could be transposed onto the suburb, middle tier city, or highway stop of your choosing.
