Anyone who's spent time with the 20 Years of Dischord box set knows that variety is not a priority at 3819 Beecher Street. Since Dischord moved away from caffeinated teenage hardcore in the mid-80s, the label has become a one-stop shop for crashing angular guitars, churning post-funk rhythm sections, inscrutable and sometimes political lyrics, and furiously clenched vocals. Some of the label's bands have been stunningly great (Fugazi, Lungfish), and some have been pretty meh (Faraquet, El Guapo), but few have been above resorting to guitar clang. Dischord's D.C.-only policy is only part of the story; the District has produced a ton of independent music (the Dismemberment Plan, Dead Meadow, go-go), which the label has opted not to fuck with. Instead, it centers itself around a loose circle of friends who constantly seem to be forming and breaking up bands. If you've been in one Dischord band, chances are pretty good you've been in two or three or seven.
Jerry Busher and James Canty, the two multi-instrumentalists who make up French Toast, have been kicking around this scene for years. Busher is The Other Guy From Fugazi, the second drummer at that band's live shows, and Canty was a member of Nation of Ulysses and the Make Up. French Toast are sort of Dischord's Spoon, stripping the label's sound down to its essentials. The guitars are flat and muted, the vocals spare and disaffected, and the theatrical, climactic scream-along choruses are absent. The band's economy and sparseness may have something to do with the fact that it only has two members, but there's no sense of looseness or abandon to its tracks; every element of every song is carefully put into place.
There's a certain cold disaffection to songs like "Back Off or Els", with its tightly-wound guitars and monotone Busher vocal, and "Pattern", with its restrained motorik chug-- Canty's yelping background vocals buried deep in the mix. A few tracks toy with drum-machine beats and electronic flourishes, and one, "New Dub", is a headlong leap into its titular genre.
Many of the tracks have an almost uncomfortable tightness; it's easy to miss the messy passion of Canty's previous bands. But the two have a way of locking into a tense, neurotic groove and hanging on to it until their knuckles turn white. Only on the last track, the stunningly gorgeous "Nobody Knows", do Busher and Canty fully realize the possibilities of their newfound minimalism. The track entirely abandons Dischord post-hardcore, relying on a few piano plunks and a soft, plaintive vocal until a slow, sad piano-and-drum-machine groove kicks in halfway through, recalling the blissful, melancholic rapture of Spacemen 3's Playing With Fire. It's an unexpectedly huge leap forward for a band that might need to leave its origins behind in order to find its voice.
