I’ll be honest: I didn’t really get all of the Smashing Pumpkins comparisons that Silversun Pickups garnered three years back on their debut LP, Carnavas. Sure, there was more than a hint of Corgan nasal delivery going on and the deceptively structured arrangements that seemed free-roaming hinted the way of the Pumpkins, but their sound owed a debt to 90s alternative rock as a whole, not just one band. But even more surprising was that the L.A. outfit was able to benefit instead of being hamstrung by such claims. It’s easy to forget now, with Billy completely losing touch and the “band” failing to capitalize on their reunion by giving fans what they want (or, more importantly, giving them something simply worthwhile), that the Pumpkins were once one of the most electrifying acts in all of music. But Silversun Pickups got down the lush layers of guitars and the enigmatic angst, but never caught on to the musical dynamic that sold the style.
Without that dynamic, Silversun Pickups managed a decent but unspectacular first run, and on their sophomore effort, Swoon, pick up right where they left off with very little development. This should probably please fans, but I suspect it will aggravate most everyone else. It’s not that the songs don’t work on their own terms (though there’s nothing here to compete with “Rusted Wheel” or “Lazy Eye”), but that there’s not a lot that sticks to the glossy melodies. Instead, the formula tune-ups are left slipping and sliding beneath motorik guitar churning and waves of reverb. And with guitars cascading even farther than before and a surplus of strings and noise washes, the Pumpkins album they seem to ape more than any of the others this time is MACHINA, which tended to bury all of the tunes in viscous murk. These guys (and gal) seem to be trying real hard this time to just get some of these tracks to move.
When they do move, they tend to slosh through gauzy puddles that want to pay tribute to shoegaze but are far too lustrous for their own good. Guitarist/vocalist Brian Aubert can’t decide if he wants to fuzz-frost everything like Kevin Shields or chime away speedily like the Edge; paired together, he throws glitter onto grime, which never looks as pretty as you’d like. And there are no doubt people out there who adore Aubert’s gender-less vocal technique, but I mourn the potential passion in the performance that’s sorely lacking here. Having never heard him speak beyond CD, I don’t know if its some studio trickery involved in making him sound so vacant and heavy-lidded, but aside from a few half-hearted screams here and there, burying his warble into the gauzy guitar textures makes him sound awfully one-note. He even sounds like he has a head cold when he sings on “Surrounded.” Nevertheless, I’m curious if he’d come off like Geddy Lee does face-to-face; for about three months after first hearing the band, I assumed it was a gravel-throated female fronting them.
Subdued as it may be, one of the most vigorous efforts comes right off the bat. Big bicep distortion grinds for a while before deteriorating in seconds into swirling pools driven by Joe Lester’s keyboard on “There’s No Secrets This Year.” The pre-chorus quiet guitar trick is pretty tired, but at least it’s a moment where they don’t feel a need to endlessly ebb and flow in ponderous execution. “The Royal We” continues that approach with shrieking strings, a simple two-note riff and then flaming up over the fierce refrain. Sure, they’re not particularly interesting techniques, but at least they keep you engaged in the polarity of the quiet-loud rule of thumb followed by a thousand of their 90s alt-rock inspirations.
Plugging in a few catchy hooks now and then into their hard rock soup seems destined for failure, yet these moments are the ones that linger in your mind afterward. “Panic Switch” could almost be deemed radio-friendly if not for the drone of pedal effects and walls of sound that try to keep the sharp moments from seeing the light of day—nevertheless, the chorus is tough to resist. Meanwhile, the riff that opens “Substitution” is much crisper, less mechanical and features a nice occasion for Aubert to show off some actual vocal range. It’s not a particularly compelling cut but it’s still a cozy break.
Mixed results or not, they’re still better at trying to bring the house down than when they slowly reach for the rafters. String-stuffed tracks like “Draining” and “Growing Old Is Getting Old” have a wispy, glacial drift to them, but they tend to clog up the album’s arteries, dispatching any semblance of forward momentum with lumbering pockets of studio sound that want to scrape the sky but can’t even claw their way out of the swamp. This is particularly unfortunate on the former because it’s a rare opportunity for Nikki Monninger’s bass to come out from the flooding mix for a brief moment. “Catch and Release” is in a similar boat, but at least there’s a mid-tempo crunchy guitar groove that keeps you trotting along at a lazy pace. The gentler moments sound built for emotions and words, which I doubt Silversun Pickups will ever excel at, so stick to the heavier moments and you’ll be much happier.
Amidst all of the compressed urgency in roomy apartments, Aubert doesn’t sing much that rises above the genre’s commonplace. The lyrics scrabble across unfettered fields of portent, melodrama and pseudo-philosophy; it’s not that they’re bad so much as they’re never specific and rarely make sense unless you come at each verse in a dozen different directions on any single song. Even the lines that we’re supposed to take home with us are pretty flimsy precisely because they’re so strained: “Better make sure you're looking closely before you fall into your swoon.” But no one listens to this sort of music for message or meaning, and it’s hard to tell anyway because the voice is either glitched or drowned.
In the end, Swoon is too prissy and pristine to challenge the tough verve of the band’s heroes and wallows too much in the mire to drive home the necessary thump and kick to drain us of anything but our patience. But even if they come up short, multiple listens do allow the sensation of swimming through the stew to seep in; not necessarily a great setting to revisit, but one that still carves its own niche for your listening mood. The correlation to Smashing Pumpkins still seems a little superficial to me, but the problem isn’t that they can’t sound like Corgan and crew in their prime. Despite the fact that they’re always listenable, the fault lies with an embrace of middle-of-the-road makeup. It’s puzzling to me that the band has so many people who either love or hate their sound—I find it drifting lazily in the middle, sometimes fascinating but more often frustrating.
