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It’s hard to know what to make of Sweetheart, in part because they tend to evoke equal numbers of positive and negative associations in their listeners. The sound of this Kent, Ohio quartet is easy enough to describe: a driving weave of melodic guitar lines combined with vocal harmonies that occasionally bleed into fast, screamy breakdowns. But just as it is impossible to listen to this CD without the party of helicopter’s seminal Mt. Forever coming to mind, it is equally difficult to tune out the strains of any number of mediocre pop-punk...
...wrist. In the video, while the former stands relatively still as the song begins, the latter jumps around and does a bunch of fake/ironic aerobic stretches. Over the course of the song, the first is intent and serious about his singing/guitar playing, the other engages in endless grand-guitar-picking-gestures, leaning back and spinning around, even at one point miming the checking his watch and listening to it to see if it still ticks. If you’ll bear with me, this is pretty much exactly what the band sounds like
...opener, “Cygnus…Vismund Cygnus,” opens with acoustic strumming before the band flicks the switch to “high” and reaches a melodious, manic cacophony—racing guitars and almost tribal drums framed with all kinds of bells and whistles. In between the lyrically accompanied parts, the listener is treated to a variety of sounds: Rodriguez’s grating guitar squeals and jabs, sounds of cars speeding by, and electronic dance beats, to name a few. The novelty wears off quickly with this hodge-podge, a marked drop...
There is a strong lean towards Spanish instrumentation—rolling pianos, bongos, and the cleanly distorted guitar sounds associated with Carlos Santana—on much of “L’Via l Viaquez” and a down-tempo shift of the style on “Miranda, That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore.” The breadth is impressive and serves the pacing of the 77-minute record...
...post-Strokes wave that have made a name for especially killer live performances. Say what you will about 2004’s Antics, but their debut album, Turn On The Bright Lights, was a almost undisputed classic, channeling the gloomy 80s through a cultivated veneer of sneering guitar and downcast vocals, and oh that sound! On both albums, Interpol draws strength from this signature sound of repetitively churning guitar lines evoke smoky roads, heartbreak, and an overwhelming cool above it all. Recent setlists point to a slight preference for the newer album, which continued in the patterns mapped...