Only in L.A. The city's influence on these four indie rock expats is almost palpable: Here they are, a brand new band and their self-titled debut, and they've already got a logo. See it there, on the chain-- the shiny, streamlined Volkswagen Bug silhouette of a rabbit. Cool, huh? It's all over everything, including the band's dot-net website, where you might even be able to order that smart little rabbit's foot trinket. (I didn't check.)
It's odd that this posturing group of Hoobastank-esque Becoming-the-Band dropouts would be led by Ken Andrews (late of Failure) and count Jeff Garber (Castor, National Skyline) among its members. While those bands never struck as particularly humble, they did have an innate sense of indie ethics and pride. And even if you can't fault them for aiming for the commercial limelight after years of (undoubtedly) struggling to make rent, you'd think you could at least expect them not to autopilot through a full album's worth of incessant one-note whining. Suffice to say, any Garber fans seeking more of the expansive, exploratory, unpretentious rock associated with Hum, the heralded 90s rock band from which he's but twice removed, will be sadly disappointed.
The band wastes no time showcasing their uninspired, formulaic, and oft-recycled sonic and lyrical propensities. The opener, "Rabbit Hole", sets the tone for the record; radio-friendly power guitar with attitude and sturdy drumming molded into tight little rock songs with luminous production and machinelike craftsmanship. But, technical proficiency aside, it's little more than a desperate Foo Fighters song. The verisimilitude is actually striking, given Andrews' similarly angstful but disenchanted delivery of, "Cause we can get high again/ We can get high, yeah/ We can just fly." And since Andrews himself has engineered for folks like B.R.M.C., Sense Field, and Pete Yorn, he's got that punchy corporate gloss down pat: his production is as vapid and sparkling as his music.
Which brings us to the lyrics, which are platitudinally freighted in from a Los Angeles high school freshman's algebra notebook, replete with bourgeois drug references and fashionable apathetic musings. Who needs the third person? Never YOTR. "I can't break out/ From this blanket of doubt/ Got me trapped in a maze of shadows." "If I'm trying to be hidden/ You still see me.../ If my whole world is crashing it won't matter/ I can keep it together when you are here." The latter lines are from "Hold Me Up", the record's requisite acoustic-with-strings moment, and break from open discourse on feeling down, getting picked up, not giving a fuck, and keeping it together amidst so much estrangement. (I hope I didn't just inadvertently plagiarize anything from them.) I'm still not sure which bear more of a striking resemblance to each other-- the songs or the band members.
Now, if you turn your brain off-- and I mean absolute suspension of conscious thought-- you might be fooled into thinking a few moments here genuinely rock. Unfortunately, as soon as your attention is secured (which admittedly may be never), the moment is summarily lost. After all, a gourmand in the Orient might salivate at the smell of roasted Dachshund, but it won't leave him any more prone to tolerance when realization hits home. If you're hungry for this sort of thing, I know a great town for you.
