by Sean Fennell (@seanrfennell)
Imagine you’re in your parents’ attic, or basement, doesn’t matter which. You’re kicking around all the accumulated junk lives seem to accrue, slipping on your mask if only to keep out decades of must. What’s that, behind the cracked mirror, under the coats? Is that? I think it is, even under all that dust, I can see it. Yeah, that’s a pop song under there. What you stumbled upon is On and On, a wonderfully chewed up and fuzzed out record from Philadelphia’s The Fragiles, whose lo-fi palette can almost keep the excellent pop songwriting at arm’s length, almost.
The Fragiles are the brainchild of songwriter David Settle, a busy man who holds down multiple bands and releases albums worth of material every year. Busy as he may be, On and On’s best moments are its most deliberate, songs who’s ambling nature takes a few listens to properly sink in. The title track, and album opener, contains the same kind of lo-fi, noisy rock that litters Settle's discography, but it’s the later half of the song that comes alive, devolving into a whirlpool, more racket than pure noise, where pointed riffs bubble up from the song’s distorted soup. The exceptions, like the thumping, propulsive “Kaleidoscope,” don’t quite have the charm or lasting power of their counterparts. There’s good riffs there to be sure, but little else.
You’re going to have to excuse me for adding another fictional situation here, but, you all remember concerts? Yeah, I know, barely. Well remember that very specific move people do with one hand gripping a beer and the other stuffed in their pocket? It’s like a rhythmic swaying, which may sound like the definition of dancing but, like, this isn’t dancing. Anyway, The Fragiles have a lot of Grade-A swaying jams. This is a compliment, by the way. Even their slower songs elicit movement, gentle but rocking in an impressively deceptive way. Take “Soft Light,” a song whose sputtering rhythm spins through like a ceiling fan picking up speed before just as leisurely slowing to a stop. These aren’t ballads by a long shot, but the way Settle plays with tempo will keep imaginary Man A on his toes to be sure.
The most confounding song on On and On is, for me, the mid-record “Garden of Cleaners”. My confusion boils down to whether it is simply a b-side Alex G interpretation or, in fact, a pretty damn good one. From the wonky, repetitive strumming pattern, which falls somewhere between mantra and mild panic attack, to the nasally vocals, the inspiration is pretty evident. Either way, the refrain of “Fall in love, with the windows up, singing arias, in the garden of cleaners” is really too damn ear-wormy for my deliberation to make much of a difference. It’s one of several moments that will stick far more than you’d think for a record that uses its lo-fi recording technique to dirty itself up so thoroughly. Once you get past that first layer of dust, or better yet, appreciate the worn-in charm, there’s a lot to love on On and On.