It's easy to speculate what kind of impact the city of Detroit has on a Detroit-based artist's work. With the general perception of the city's decay (and its "halftime in America" stereotype), anything "angry" in a song could quickly and cheaply be attributed to the artist's surroundings. Maybe that's partially due to some long-held MC5- or Ted Nugent-based aggression archetype. On some records, though, Detroit's presence is pretty well spelled out. Tyvek's last one, for example, had "Wayne County Roads". Similarly, Protomartyr don't hide their hometown on No Passion All Technique, their debut album. There's "Jumbo's", which is about the bar in Midtown, and "Ypsilanti", a city 40 minutes away. On their debut album, they tell stories set in these places (and others), and back them with a diverse rock'n'roll ecosystem.
"Machinist Man" is the story of a night foreman who works all week in the city. Come the weekend, he's drinking High Life after High Life. But then, Protomartyr counterbalance the foreman's story with this sentence: "There are things that are built in the skulls of men." And that line, bellowed in Joe Casey's baritone, embodies why No Passion All Technique isn't just "an album about Detroit". It's set in Detroit, its characters live in and around Detroit, but this album is bigger than one place. Protomartyr's characters are more than hollow archetypes or faceless B-roll factory workers from Searching for Sugar Man. These are people with ideas, struggles, and stories. The three schizophrenic gentlemen detailed in "Ypsilanti", for example: One of them throws books out windows, one of them "could still punch through walls," and the third delivers an enigmatic monologue: "Call me not interference, my name is I.R. Dung. If I see my hands, sir, I know they do no wrong."
These are stories delivered with an alarming amount of sonic dexterity. While "Hot Wheel City" has the anthemic rafter reach of a Hold Steady track, "Free Supper" is pure speed punk. "Jumbo's" falls into a droning, hypnotic psych melody, and though it stays on a specific course, it keeps gradually fluctuating in volume, suddenly adding layers of instruments and suddenly stripping them away. Then there's something like "Three Swallows"-- paced, fingerpicked, warm. There, the band quietly ruminates on drinking-- a topic All Passion No Technique picks up a few times-- plus loss, aging, and heartbreak. It's a devastating and human track, and the song doesn't settle for sonic or tonal simplicity. Midway through, it gets a set of loud and chunky acid-washed guitars. After about two minutes, it's over way too soon.
Scouring the lyrics sheet for No Passion All Technique, you'll find cold detachment and cynicism all over the place. "Jumbo's" opens with the rigidly delivered line, "I will touch the screen no more/ I will not have a drink." But this album is never bitter, and it's never a slog. A song like "Feral Cats" even borders on absurdity. Frantic instrumentals accompany Casey's vocals, which are paranoid about dust, nurses, and warfare. Then, with a big triumphant hook and a shouted vocal, they sing, "Just like feral cats!" Is this a joke? Is this legitimate concern, like how we should probably honest-to-god fear feral pigs? It's a song delivered with either gravity or a smirk, and either way, it's a great song.
What's refreshing about No Passion All Technique is its lack of immediate sonic reference points. There are loose ones-- vocals like Nick Cave, punk guitars-- but this is a record in its own universe. There's jittery instrumentals, cynicism, and paranoia, sure, but you can't define it by those things. There's also heartwrenching loss and awesome guitar solos. And there's a humanness and empathy to this material that's increasingly rare in rock songs. For a debut LP, No Passion All Technique is an impressive showing of sonic, lyrical, and emotional range, and it all falls under a cohesive banner.
