Cold War Kids' 2006 debut Robbers & Cowards became a hotly contested battleground for those always-delightful conceptual debates regarding bias for or against religious bands, Los Angeles bands, and blog bands, almost making it hard to remember that the record started out as a musically divisive effort. Nathan Willett's vocals (still most accurately likened to drunken Jeff Buckley karaoke) were a hell of a lot to take and the band's inexplicable decision to cover "A Change Is Gonna Come" hinted at soul brother aspirations that more often manifested itself in a white man's burden. If it seemed like too much was placed on the shoulders of an instantly familiar release, it's because Cold War Kids occasionally gave the hint that they're worth the trouble: They carry a topicality absent in much of modern rock and even if they fell short of honoring their obvious influences, they're the type a band can spend a fruitful career growing into. But Loyalty to Loyalty takes the lead from its bullish title, conjuring not Sam Cooke, but George Costanza by stating in no uncertain terms, "this is the show, and we're not gonna change it."
Which considering the success of its predecessor-- about 169K copies sold and counting-- should work just fine for the Fullerton group. And besides, in a world where Dirty Projectors' Dave Longstreth and the Hold Steady's Craig Finn can play festivals, an unorthodox and even annoying voice isn't a dealbreaker. But while those others act as vehicles for inventive arrangements or stirring narratives, too much of Loyalty is held hostage by Willett's need to put himself up front at the expense of everything else, a *Speed-*like situation where he sounds like a song could potentially die if he isn't going full-blast at all times. It's a disconnect between form and function-- too often, he sounds like he's straining under the admittedly weighty subject matter rather than letting any of his stories speak for themselves. To CWK, "soul" is equated to unhinged belting-- it's difficult to hear "Something Is Not Right With Me" as genuine despair despite some admittedly funny lyrics when Willett flails about no differently than just about any other track. "Jazz", meanwhile is equated to circling the proper pitch like a one-winged vulture. During the interminable first half of the "Lilac Wine"-meets-"Arm & Hammer" fusion "Avalanche in B", the title is the only indication that Willett is aware of the key at all.
Opener "Against Privacy" somehow turns out to be heavy-handed about its opacity-- you can imagine it's about Republicans from the few lines that take, but it trips up on Willett‘s conspiratorial Yorke-isms ("Forget ex-girlfriends/ We want little governments") and a complete lack of a hook. And if there's a more concise microcosm of the Cold War Kids experience, it's "Every Man I Fall For"-- I imagine they'll get brownie points for flipping gender roles and having Willett sing from the perspective of a woman enamored with the strong and violent type, but it's puffed up with details straight out of central casting, "love and hate" knuckle tattoos, winking paramours, etc. As fantasy, it's old hat and as reality, it just doesn't wash.
If anything, you can admire the rhythm section thanklessly becoming a more solid team. Even if "Welcome to the Occupation" (not an R.E.M. cover) spends its entirety in search of a tune, the band makes the trek worthwhile with constantly shifting, percussive clatter. On sound alone, it should sidle up nicely with anyone who dug the Walkmen's You & Me, with its tom-heavy beats and chalky, reverbed guitars-- the martial beat of "I've Seen Enough" is muscular in a way they've never been before, summoning the venom Willett's lyrics only hint at. And when Willett allows himself to give into a good melody, the first half is stocked more palatable numbers like "Mexican Dogs" and "Every Valley Is Not a Lake", which bring the same sort of yelp-along pleasure that made "Hang Me Out to Dry" a standout.
But ultimately, Loyalty to Loyalty leaves a weird aftertaste, and it's not just because the penultimate "Relief" tries to prop itself up on Willett's falsetto harangues and stuttering slap-bass, before "Cryptomnesia" ends the record collapsing into a rumpled heap. The band name implies unspoken conflict, perhaps between the bullshit romantic ideals afforded by youth or 200-level Lit courses and the aspiration to be an old soul, wise beyond one's years. But as anyone who's dealt with a friend who's traveled abroad and all of a sudden thought they were Hemingway (or Zack Condon) likely knows, those urges more often work hand in hand to reinforce each other. And the result is, in short, belief in one's own hype. Proponents raved that Cold War Kids arrived fully formed, but as the band continues to stubbornly emphasize their weaknesses, Loyalty To Loyalty is proof that their detractors can say the same thing.
