Every band's either got good vibrations or doomy melodrama. In the era to come, is there a place for either? How much will music change? What will step up to replace the cracked glaze of teen pop? Personally, I'm calling on everyone to rally around the White Stripes for a definitive change. But with my manifesto for such stripped-down blues-rock in hand, how can I pretend to care much for another clever band with a flair for arrangement singing their hymns to summers past? The answer, of course, is that variety is the spice of life. But if the truth must be told, I really can't get that excited about them, despite the fact that they do create very pleasant, modern sea chanteys for Sunday afternoons.
The Original Brothers and Sisters of Love have a taste for Brian Wilson, the Kinks, minstrel music, and the sea-- or rather, the great lakes of their Michigan home, which are referenced repeatedly throughout H.O.M.E.S (and whose names create the mnemonic acronym that is the album's title). The band consists of three gifted songwriters (as well as three other instrumentalists) who sing with spirit and finesse in affected growling brogues and sweet, clean falsettos. Greg McIntock sings only two of the album's songs, but brings home the trophy of "finest vocal performance" for the slow piano ballad "Silent Apologies." His voice uncurls from a lazing Ray Davies croon into a raspy, aching groan before lifting to a mournful cry. Jamie Monger writes and sings the jauntiest numbers, which at times sound quite a bit like the Waterboys, while his brother Tim dips further into sweet, breathy ballads cluttered with more mementos of past days than a grandmother's attic.
It's awful nostalgic, this record. There's a Tim Monger ode to a vintage Schwinn and another to Tigers Stadium, and several references to childhood and forgotten other things. And all these sepia-toned images are lent strength by the gentle poetry of the lyrics, and the light, front-porch swing of the acoustic guitars, banjos, mandolins and strings. The violin of Liz Auchinvole (on loan to Michigan from New Zealand) is featured often, but it's the almost tuba-like sound of Scott McIntlock's bass triplets that anchors these sailors somewhere out on Lake Huron in a fictional past, in a world that "was founded when the world was young." As Jamie Monger sings on "East Jesus America":
It was passed down from moon to sunAnd it's miles away from MotownBut when the stars shine drunk with summerHold back the hair of your loverYeah, it just breaks my heart just being there, it's true
It's nice stuff, yeah. Very pretty, and capable of earnestness without always falling victim to saccharine clichés. The band's genuine affection for the music of the past is endearing. But I wonder: what will the future bring?
