by Conor Lochrie (@conornoconnor)
If any album contains a loving ode to an iconic arcade game about an intrepid frog that also doubles as a reflection on family, that album is worthy of attention. So it is with Germs, the latest album from Jersey City based lo-fi project Grass Jaw.
The man behind it is Brendan Kuntz, the drummer for post-hardcore band Eighteen Hundred and Froze to Death. The tight and taut playing that he’s used to with them has vanished on Germs, replaced with a record marked by freedom of expression; it’s a solo effort in the truest sense of the term. He plays all the instruments and provides all the vocals on Germs (its wry tagline is “I’m too old to be making bedroom pop, so let’s call it apartment fuzz”) and it's earnest and humble but vibrant.
“Mistakes” opens the album with a stirring sadness, the song touched with a country twinge. On “Happy for a Nihilist,” his voice is strong and stern: “I want what’s best for you / But what is reasonable,” he says, and such sentiments of accepting one’s lot and doing the best you can, color the record. On “Mistakes” he ponders “Who did you help today, How did you help today”; On the moody and melancholic “Glasses and Chairs,” he laments “Haven’t done near enough.” In this way, Germs is not so much a mid-life crisis as a mid-life reckoning.
The Dylan-esque “Ok” is an acoustic and breezy folk piece, his vocals delightfully layered. A requisite harmonica appears. It's lilting and tender as he remembers “This won’t go on forever, though it feels that way / It’s alright to not be ok” (something we all need to hear during COVID-19). Then there’s also “Froggered,” the one you’ve been waiting for. A tribute to the 1981 arcade game that consisted of a frog trying to make it across a busy road back to his home, Grass Jaw makes sure that the rhythm is melodic and jumpy so as to mirror the frog’s valiant journey; he also somehow makes it another thoughtful reflection on family (“Loves his wife, his tadpoles too / For a quarter, he’ll jump for you”).
The rhythm of “Moving On” is intense and momentous, the song intentful and purposeful as it chugs along to a thunderous climax (his expert drumming is most on show here). “The Garage” ends the album in an instrumental scuzzy rock haze - bolstered by accompanying bass from Thomas Yagielski - as Grass Jaw goes out firing. Germs is a great reflexive lyrical record, the directness of Grass Jaw’s words really landing. As a break from blasting away in a post-hardcore band, it achieves what its creator was aiming for. As Grass Jaw says on “Moving On,” “Perfect isn’t possible.”