Even considering the simplicity and affordability of today's music recording technology, and the increasingly cozy global village the internet's reduced our planet (and subsequent indie universe) to, an out-of-left-field band like Nurses still sounds like quite the curiosity. Originally hailing from Idaho but claiming temporary residency in Southern California and Chicago, the band's never had time to establish roots in any particular scene, and their debut's anachronistic horror-show pop suggests the foursome's practically ignorant of any current trends. Despite these apparent handicaps, Hangin' Nothin' But Our Hands Down possesses the brio of a confident marquee release, refusing the modest lo-fi and understatement of most indie rookies.
The combination of glitzy cabaret theatrics with a Middle American upbringing may sound untenable and at worst, laughable, but Nurses aren't some indie incarnation of Waiting For Guffman. While drawing from the bombast of Queen, Muse, and Radiohead may seem a tall order, the band comes with their own set of eccentricities to justify an otherwise grandiose, ambitious sound. Perhaps the most obvious of these tics, their debut's insert (which also features astounding artwork) includes a small plastic magnifying glass to view a booklet of lyrics printed in size 4 font. Sure, it's a ploy typically reserved for Happy Meals, but without playing a single note, Hangin' already has you leaning in.
Amidst all these idiosynchracies, frontman Aaron Chapman proves the most potent factor in distinguishing Nurses from the chaff. On opener and single "And Now the Curse of Marjorie", his tortured vocals, coupled with chilling keyboards and glitchy percussion, evoke Matthew Bellamy's space-age crooning, while the more tender "Wait For a Safe Sign" finds him copping Jeff Buckley, right down to poetic lines like "As sounds echo through crowds and shower our homes." Taking a cue from similarly vaudevillian act The Dresden Drolls, the band occasionally curbs its theater flair with sharp-edged rock sensibility, especially on "Lots of Brass" and "It Came in a Flash", each packed with enough minor-key riffs to make Queens of the Stone Age blush.
Unfortunately, when the curtain goes down and the lights are dimmed, the band's green songwriting's exposed. Excepting the Lou Reed-inspired fun-house ballad "He Gots", the album's more threadbare tracks fall flat, and Chapman's vocal hamming only exacerbates the situation. Although this album's back half runs out of steam, the band's willingness to prove their sound as something more than novelty is commendable, even when it yields mixed results like the Southern Gothic macabre of acoustic closer "Marching in Places". Should Nurses ever synergize their musical chops with their oddball allure, the result could be a dazzling side show ready for the big top's center stage.
