After releasing two consecutive records of quiet, lonely piano-only music (2013’s Julia with Blue Jeans On and the 2014 City Wrecker EP), the Spencer Krug of guitars, of bleepy synthesizers and occasionally pounding rhythms is back. Earlier this year, his first famous act Wolf Parade announced that the band was reuniting, first with a secret show and then by dropping their first recording of new music in five years. And now he’s followed that development with the release of his latest effort under the Moonface name, the fully electrified My Best Human Face.
Considering that his last two records relied entirely on piano, Krug’s lyrics and his wearied moan—a nicely distinctive voice to be sure, but one with limited range and an ability to grate on overexposure—they turned out to be surprisingly strong, particularly the full-length Julia. Despite the limited instrumentation, on each he made great use of both depth-adding vocal overdubs and ruminative, carefully considered piano accompaniments showing not a rock musician playing songs but a trained pianist uncovering notes.
With My Best Human Face, however, Krug has returned to traditional keyboard-driven rock, and in offering a new electric version of the previous EP’s title-track ode to Montreal “City Wrecker,” he implicitly asks his listeners to assess the results. The original “City Wrecker” was emotional centerpiece of that release; looking back on Krug’s time spent in Montreal and his somewhat anguished decision to leave, it worked quite well in the cold and stark context of piano and voice. However, with Krug’s decision to repeat the track here he does himself a bit of a disservice, as his chosen ornamentation for it in a Twin Shadow-y imaginary-'80s slow burn removes some of the heft of the song and makes you speculate on the seriousness of its sentimentality in the first place.
Elsewhere, the rock contrivances work better. Lead single “Risto’s Riff” charges out of the gate with a pounding four-on-the-floor rhythm and sinewy guitar that carry Arcade Fire-style urgency. It's so immediate that you are compelled to shout along with the chorus even as you realize it hinges on the half-hilarious, half-ridiculous rallying cry “At least I'm not a photographer!” On “Ugly Flower Pretty Vase,” he marries a tight drum-and-bass rhythm to snappy, minimal Britt Daniel guitar. And “Them Call Themselves Old Punks” nails the cresting payoff that “City Wrecker” strived for.
Unfortunately, the brief seven-song album neither starts nor ends well, bookended by two dirges. Opener “The Nightclub Artiste” feels like a textbook example of when Krug takes too much time on a slow song going nowhere, putting too much emphasis on a voice that just isn’t dynamic enough. Plodding closer “The Queen of Both Darkness and Light” is even worse, sounding like exit music that plays over credits while an audience exits a theatre. The fact that it clocks in at a baffling seven minutes—the longest song on the record—makes it seem like Krug must be hearing something the rest of us are not.
Then there are Krug's way with lyrics, which can be as divisive as his voice. There’s no question he puts painstaking effort into telling stories rather than singing songs, but there are times when is choices are so off-putting it's hard not to do a double-take. Take the aforementioned “At least I'm not a photographer” in “Risto’s Riff,” or the equally awkward “There’s nothing punk about that” refrain in “Them Call Themselves Old Punks.” Both moments don't feel witty or unorthodox as they do just awkward, like chunky square pegs jammed into the round holes of standard rock songwriting.
When Krug sticks to his strengths—off-the-beaten-path keyboard-driven rock n’ roll, with taut, wiry tunes that match his voice and wry wit—he generally succeeds. But his tendency to slow it down and draw it out leads him to take risks that often don’t pay off. He hit a decent payday on Julia with Blue Jeans On, but already that formula delivered diminished returns on its successor City Wrecker EP. And here now on his electric return, even less so.
