Male Bonding's songs are fast, noisy, and full of hooks, a combination that might remind you of any number of things: Nirvana-era fuzz-pedal stompers, 1990s American indie rockers, Hüsker Dü and Dinosaur Jr. followers, not-quite-shoegazer English bands. Like a lot of those acts-- and like their contemporaries in No Age and Abe Vigoda-- Male Bonding started out making more abrasive music. Two of the three members used to be in the noise-pop band PRE, and the rich London scene they're coming out of-- a loose collective of bands with more of a common spirit than a common sound-- is full of scratchy post-punk, lo-fi fuzz, and hints of classic labels like Teenbeat, K, and Flying Nun. These are the kinds of foundational sounds that indie rock often turns back to when it needs to clear its head. But with Male Bonding, part of the treat is hearing them jump out of that and find room in the wide-open field where amped-up, rangy punk stuff collides with tuneful slacker pop. (Early on, they covered both Black Flag and Blur.) No surprise that they've wound up signed to Sub Pop, a label that built part of its reputation on that sound.
"That sound" isn't new, of course. It helps that Male Bonding are shockingly good at it, and remarkably efficient. The songs on Nothing Hurts are short, direct, pared down to essentials, and tightly packed-- with hooks, with changes, with instrumental fireworks. They move rapidly from zoomy rock to more atmospheric breaks ("Franklin"), and from a terrific run of loose, spiky gems in the middle ("Crooked Scene", "Weird Feelings") to some surprises toward the end. (The closer, a scratchy acoustic number, features guest vocals by Vivian Girls.) Frontman John Arthur Webb's vocals and lyrics can be a little hazy and non-committal-- often that's part of the charm-- but they're not really in the spotlight. Listening to tracks like "T.U.F.F." and "Pumpkin", you get the sense that this band's songwriting starts from the way their instruments lock together when they're playing in a room-- cymbal-bashing drum parts, chunky bass lines, and Webb's shattered-sounding guitar leads-- leaving this record as a fuzzy, no-nonsense, half-hour document of what they do.
And then there are the hooks. The hustle, the energy, and the sheer number of them make this an easy album to love-- especially if you're in the mood for some feedback, Nirvana moves, and punk-rock energy along with your melodies. One of the best comes during the killer chorus of a slack pop song called "Nothing Remains", which runs back and forth between a punk-rock build and a burst of high, cooing backing vocals; it's loose, noisy, and wonderfully graceful. Nothing Hurts is full of that kind of excitement: the sound of a fast, fuzzy rock band racing from hook to hook, plowing happily through breakdowns and guitar blasts, springing through scrappy melodies with style. It's one of the happiest surprises of the year so far.
