As a watered-down mélange of Vampire Weekend and the Strokes, Japanese Motors won’t impress many nor will it inspire too much venom from those looking for something better. These sorts of albums are by far the hardest to judge—it’s sort of pleasant on occasion but entirely unremarkable. Even after my third run through, if it weren’t for note-taking, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how a single song’s melody unfurls or recite a single phrase mumbled by the trying-too-hard-to-not-try vocalist. But the fact that I didn’t wince when pressing play on that third listen proves that it’s an entirely painless venture. Imagine queuing up to take a ride on a new thrillcoaster at your local amusement park, but you end up on the mildly enjoyable small-hills-no-frills ride. You’re quite disappointed, but you can’t really fault the old model, just the knowledge that shiny new greatness lies elsewhere. Japanese Motors is that familiar old attraction that just can’t compete with modern day thrills.
I won’t hold their OC roots against them, but that knowledge does hint scornful outsiders to their abilities. Professional surfer, Alex Knost, takes the mic and does his best interpretations (or impressions) of his favorite detached, marble-mouthed singers—unless Julian Casablancas has adopted a new persona and switched coasts, which I could honestly believe based on the evidence of this album’s vocals. Maybe because they’re from California, the only semi-original modulation they add to the insouciant post-punk playbook is a gentle surf swing. Every other progression or arrangement they gathered in the studio was lifted wholesale from a lot of records from earlier this decade (chiefly: pretty much any of the “The” bands). Shake gently and serve.
“Single Fins & Safety Pins” is the first track (and first single), but doesn’t bode particularly well for the rest of the album. Beginning with the sound of waves and seagulls, they’re already trying too hard to plant us on a sunny beach. And while I can’t claim it was lazy to add handclaps and ooh-aahs during the refrain (if it works, it works) the performance can be so described. Artificial cheer would have sounded worse, but if you want to do a bright pop song, you have to embrace the good will. Instead, Knost sings like he’s trying to be a sneering Lou Reed over the verses and shouts half-heartedly during the chorus. Still modestly catchy, its potential guilty pleasure status is promptly deflated by the too-ridiculous-to-believe spoken word bridge; the second bridge, mind you, making it superfluous to boot.
After that, we cruise through harmless but forgettable fluff. All good will that blossoms during the nimbly swinging percussion that opens up “Regrets a Paradise” evaporates once the bland riff takes over and Knost vacuously drawls, “Lust is all right when you're drunk every night/And love is so nice I realize.” Things pick up a bit with “Coors Lite”; it’s as uninspired a melody as anything else so far, but it’s performed sprightly enough and ends before two minutes pass. “Oh Brother” tries to be an emotive, mid-tempo candle rocker, but the rhythm is insipid and the vocal performance forced. “Spendin’ Days” comes as a late relief to the lifeless proceedings, thanks to surprisingly rollicking riffs courtesy of the usually too delicate guitars and a self-aware irony. Knost sings that he’s “too hippie to be punk/Too punk to be a hippie.” It sums up the record quite nicely—the sparkling guitar notes are too spiky to intimate good, lazy times but there’s not nearly enough infectious energy to get anyone to want to stand up and shout.
They take a couple of breaks along the way with brief surf rock instrumental interludes (perhaps in order to ensure the listener that, yes, you’re still listening to Japanese Motors and not some Franz Ferdinand leftovers). They’re short but mildly enjoyable—enough so that you wish they were longer (and better) to take our minds away from the palpable theft. But when they’re not borrowing from post-punk, they swipe tricks from proto-punk (i.e., sloppy garage rock from the 60s). The Troggs, Kingsmen, Trashmen and Animals are all sampled for aftertaste flavor (and the excessive Spanish count-up on “Better Trends” can’t help but make you think of “Wooly Bully”). Sure, they could have picked worst acts to follow (much worse) but they need more than just one mildly novel addition to the unbending formula.
The temptation to say that this is an album that’s just six years too late does bubble up, but that would be too easy. Besides, I still listen to some of those old Hives and Strokes records and bob my head along; I never involuntarily did that to any of these tunes. While everything from the lyrics to the songwriting to the instrumentation and vocals are all at least competent, they rarely come off as anything better than disinterested or “going through the motions.” Maybe that comes about as a result of their fusion of the jittery and the laid back. If they lean further one way or the other in the future, they might be worth hearing. For now, Japanese Motors is a debut that probably won’t be well-liked by a hippie or a punk or anyone else.
"Japanese Motors" is on sale October 7, 2008 from Vice.
