A Tumblr search of the band Basement's name reveals scores of viral fan-made content, from lyrically-inspired tattoo sheets to manicured shots of attractive young fans rocking their new merch. The Suffolk band's anguished romanticism continues to resonate with fans, primarily because it’s packaged in brooding rock tunes just sweet enough to get stuck in your head, but woozy and frequently dissonant enough to avoid sounding overproduced. After a two-year break, they’ve returned even more eager to explore that melodic direction with their third full-length, Promise Everything. It’s less Warped Tour and more KROQ Weenie Roast: the depressive offspring of Mineral and Jimmy Eat World.
Andrew Fisher’s fluid baritone is easily Basement’s best instrument. It’s plush on the ears, complementary to the guitars, and distinctive in its quivering tone—but on Promise Everything, it becomes the band’s crutch. The frontman relies on little more than his scratchy melisma to fuel the album, wringing every sustained note he can out of vaguely-worded howlers like "All I need for flight/ Is feeling from inside" and "Tear my heart off my sleeve/ And tell me you believe in me."
His bandmates don’t help things, churning out garden-variety grunge riffs as if on autopilot (now and again, they’ll toss some atonal notes into the mix, a bit of catnip to distract from the incessant mid-tempo buzz ballads). When the title track’s chorus rolls around —if your eyes haven’t rolled back in your head first, that is—it’s smirk-inducing: "When I’m high, I’m high/ When I’m low, I’m low." It’s low all right: no manic energy in sight, a cardinal sin on an album rooted in aggression.
Occasionally, the dull roar manifests in some solid rock songs. Awash in knotted fretwork and lilting melodies, "Brothers Keeper" is as good a kick-off–or maybe a kiss-off?–as any, a textured introduction to the album’s acrid ambivalence (epitomized in the chorus' don’t-call-me-I’ll-call-you refrain: "Feelings come and go/ I will let you know.") The fuzzy torch song "Aquasun" delights as well, swathing a vulnerable chorus in bleary, blanketed guitars that recall Disc 2 of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. Lastly, there's "Submission," the best show of songcraft by far: At last, the band perk up a bit and play with contrast, pitting airy oo-oo-oos against palm-muted guitars, screams against whispers, lover against lover. But while these standouts quash fears of Basement's creative stasis, they're stilll not enough to give them the gravitas of a great band.
