The Shaky Hands are one of a million rock bands who cite the Beatles as an inspiration, but the influence runs deeper than just the swirly guitar solos, bouncy piano lines, and buoyant harmonies woven into their songs-- frontman Nicholas Delffs is probably one of the few Fab Four acolytes who can claim a soul-cleansing India retreat of his own. The effect of the trip was not so much musical-- rather than experiment with sitars, tablas, and eastern modalities, the Portland band's third album, Let It Die, is actually their most straightforward set to date. But amid Let It Die's ragged bar-band workouts, you hear a singer who's had time to peacefully ponder his place in the world, and question the predominant Western values of rat-race competitiveness and material acquisition.
Let It Die isn't dramatic enough to count as a midlife-crisis record, but the album is consumed with midlife stasis: references abound to aging, setting suns, and flames dying out. And yet, that the Shaky Hands opt to wrap these anxieties in unfussy, steady-as-she-goes rockers that suggest a certain shrugged-shoulder resignation, forsaking the jittery energy and textural nuance of 2008's Lunglight for more surface-level classic rock comforts. But while the laissez-faire quality of Delffs' raspy voice makes him an eminently likable mouthpiece, the Shaky Hands aren't an especially incendiary rock'n'roll band: Delff's title-track rant is backed by a standard-issue Rolling Stones strut that doesn't waver for four verse-chorus cycles; the cruise-controlled workout "Caught in the Storm" splits the difference between Haight-Ashbury 1967 and the Bowery 1977, but stops cold just as it seems to be accruing some force. Only on the piano-pounded stomper "Slip Away" does the band exude an intensity that matches the frustration heard in Delffs' lyrics.
After kicking out the jams (however casually) on the album's first half, the Shaky Hands simmer down even more on Let It Die's second side, downshifting into cowpoke laments like "Don't Fail Me Now" and, with "Gonna Hold You Tonight", a rather blatant attempt at a couples-cuddling, lighter-waving acoustic ballad. But the band's playful spirit is still evident in the winsome, piano-rolled lullaby "Already Gone", while the album's theme of dead-end ennui is best manifested on the bittersweet "Allison and the Ancient Eyes", whose deceptively cheery jangle-pop dressing only makes the unfulfillment described within seem all the more tragic. So, in search of spiritual salvation, Delff looks once again to the Beatles-- namely, John Lennon and George Harrison-- as he transforms the imagine-no-possessions rhetoric of closing piano ballad "Leave It All" into a full-on Hare Krishna hymn. Let It Die may speak of the sour times, but, in the end, at least Delffs has found his sweet lord.
