It is believed to be Kevin Failure who first coined the term “shitgaze.” Obviously an amalgam of the sub-genre of shoegaze and, uh, shit, its use is sometimes derogatory, sometimes affectionate, but always followed by a smirk. Its roster includes numerous recent “buzz bands,” like No Age, Women, Times New Viking, A Place to Bury Strangers and the band that Failure was describing, Psychedelic Horseshit. Even Failure’s own act, Pink Reason, has been labeled as such. It’s nice that they can play nice with each other without being too lovey dovey. However, it’s not so nice that there are so many of them out there right now.
Frankly, it gets exhausting. Each of them pop up with enormous hype, as if they’re going to be the saviors of rock and roll, and they usually do what they do with efficiency and messy charm. But there’s not a whole lot of staying power here. True, several cutsfrom the previous list of “shitgazers” landed on my list of the best songs of last year, but how many of them will be remembered a decade from now? Even more critically, how many of them arrive and get consistent labels that don’t focus on words like “promising” and “potential”? Such is the problem with most “shitgaze” albums, including this one—in small doses, they’re charming and fun in a ragged, smiley sewer rat kind of way. But too much can just make you feel icky.
Wavves, which is really just Nathan Williams, can’t coast on the faultless coincidence of bad timing altogether. There’s no doubt that if it had come a year earlier, it might sound a little bit better, but overall, Wavvves (yes, there’s supposed to be an extra V) is a victim of its own personality. One at a time, there’s a lot to admire here, but stretched out over more than a half-hour with all the highs and lows floating around in this trebly stew, this album can frequently become more chore than pleasure to get through it all, despite a reliance on dependable formula. The formula’s pretty simple—it’s all about mood, texture and noise. Nothing else matters.
The songs are usually interchangeable, with only the level of viscosity and the turn of the amp offering new ideas. Williams doesn’t exactly write lyrics so much as simply spout whatever phrase appears in his mind and then repeat it again and again. The song titles warn you of this lyrical minimalism—not many don’t reference sunny beaches or goths, often at the same time. I gotta give him points for matching two apparent opposites like that, but he doesn’t do anything substantial with them. Even if he had, it’s doubtful you’d understand much since the vocals are as distorted as anything else.
Some songs just sound like exercises in noise friction, a habit that was becoming tiresome more than twenty years ago. “Killr Punx, Scary Demons” is half somber, half chaos, and neither side is particularly interesting. Elsewhere, the snarl acts in contrast to the crisper rhythms of songs like “Beach Demon” and “To the Dregs” (the latter sounds like it could have been a Weezer B-side if you cleaned off all the gristle). Even more frustrating is when Williams exploits Beach Boys harmonies (usually on, expectedly, the beach songs) but then scuffs them up for no explicit purpose than to give the pop a nasty edge.
The best entries are usually the ones that stand out from the effusively noisy pack. “No Hope Kids” could have been sweet jangle pop if tuned in the other direction; Williams gargling up, “Got no car/Got no money/Got nothing, nothing, nothing, not at all,” briefly captures the bored alienation of a segment of the youth culture. “Weed Demon” sounds like a straight copy of Sebadoh’s sonic playbook, but at least it gives our eardrums a rest for a couple of minutes. “Surf Goth” has more than just a little extra-slovenly, marble-mouthed Beck in it. Whether these songs are better based on comparison or if they’re simply more cleverly constructed will take some time to pinpoint.
The trend of flipping sugary pop melodies on their backs and layering on the razor-barbed filth can be found in many corners today, but familiarity isn’t this album’s chief fault. The problem is that several songs aren’t that great to begin with, sound too similar to other tracks, or just wear out their welcome too soon. There is “promise” and “potential” here, but bands like Times New Viking and No Age made it work right away while Williams’ Wavvves seems to be filling in the gaps between the four or five good tunes with rusty placeholders. At ten or fifteen minutes, it does what it sets out to do, and the audience laps up the skewed and skittering pop rhythms that have been blackened to a cinder. But an excessive amount of time spent over the flames is too much, and certainly not “of a good thing.” Keep an eye out for Wavves, but only hardcore noise-pop fanatics need bother with this one right now.
"Wavvves" is on sale March 17, 2009 from Fat Possum.
