by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
I've had the chance to be a semi-professional music critic/writer since mid-2009. In that time, I think I've done my best to explore songs and albums in a meaningful way, and to provide some kind of novel insight. I’ve also had my fair share of lapses in judgment; my mis-read and resulting critical shrug for Drive By Truckers’ Go-Go Boots, for instance, haunts me a decade later. (However, I'm still not convinced I was wrong about Women's Public Strain.)
I mention that not only to reinforce the idea that people on the Web are the diametric opposite of sweethearts, but also that any critic worth their weight will always struggle with how they feel about a record, and what that means amid the context of everyone else's perceptions and feelings. Which is to say, not only can we certainly get it wrong, but that often feels more significant than simply not liking a record. It's about largely existing outside ourselves, and trying to appreciate music even when it personally might not land in our own hearts/minds.
That "struggle" was very much on my mind as I was listening to ¿KIERES AGUA?, the brand-new LP from French rock band Rose Mercie. The nine-track effort certainly occupied the same space as that aforementioned DBT review -- enjoyable enough without being altogether moving or riotous. I think a lot of that has to do with the baseline of the record, and that despite their tinges of pop, folk, dark rock, and other tidbits, most of the songs tend to operate as the same kind of semi-detached, frills-free post-punk.
Again, that's not a downside necessarily; songs like "Sweet Place," which radiates earnestness, and "Des Pierres," which adds off-kilter sonic tidbits to achieve the right sort of weirdness, are enjoyable and genuinely good. The band have their sound nailed all the way down, and they balance these great nostalgic qualities of rock with an intellect and emotionality. Their dynamic is perhaps best exemplified by "Regresar": that slow churn of '90s alt rock absurdity is tempered with some deliberately kooky sonic choices, and the end result feels all the more gripping for the foursome's conscious decisions.
Still, I just can't escape the struggle that things feel locked into one speed, and that there's not enough variation to feel like we're hearing the most of the quartet. It's an issue made all the more complex given that there's instances on this record that feel decidedly more inspired or focused than others, and they're subtle but deeply effective than those "good" songs. Like, "Chais pas," which ups the temp a few degrees, spins into some retro '60s energy and a dash of funk, and thus feels like a sonic and emotional high point. Or, the album closer "Witching," which feels even more inspired than its counterpart, and that extra helping of retro vibes and slow-burning sensuality feel like a massive accomplishment.
But then I begin to fear: are these moments as spectacular as I'd assumed, or are they simply better by comparison? I never really landed on a proper answer, and I’ve kept thinking about the power of this record as a cohesive piece of art versus a kind of kaleidoscope of sentiments and ideas aligned by a shared aesthetic. There’s lots of stuff here, but I still can't help but feel that there’s this kind of cognitive gap that I can’t quite fully escape.
That's likely the larger point -- this record kept me guessing. As much as a song like "La Douceur" may feel half-spun, or incapable of building beyond its '90s-esque power-pop roots, I kept thinking about it. I'd weigh it on its own, and in the grand scheme of this record. Even if it paled in comparison to "Witching," for instance, I found myself compelled to keep spinning it over and over in my head. I wanted to see what it was like across a suite of situations and feelings and all that jazz, and isn't that close enough to the idea of actual enjoyment to say it was -- gasp -- genuinely enjoyable?
It's not that I was overthinking this record; it's straightforward enough to speak volumes about its intent or musical lineage, which I can fully appreciate. Rather, these songs feel like individual statements, a series of "installations" that you can spin through while grappling with how the record at-large will land within your life. Not every path is as interesting, but it helps you explore your biases and favorites in a way that all great art should.
In a kind of TL;DR sort of way, what I’m ultimately saying is that this is a good record. It made me happy, if not overjoyed; I liked the songs, even if some are just sort of OK; and it feels important without being entirely revelatory or earth-shatteringly significant. My feelings are summed up in a tune like "Dinosaur" -- all the parts are engaging and approachable, even if maybe nothing all that amazing comes from the end of this '60s pop-rock ballad.
I liked this whole thing because it stirred up that nervousness and anxiety that comes with truly listening to a record, and hoping that you understand it well enough (especially if you've then got to write something). It insists upon itself enough to make you engage head on, and to try and crack its code. The fact that not every part of that mystery spoke to me isn't at all the point; it's that enough did, and the parts that clicked really spoke to me as a fan of this whimsical, deeply joyous rock. Sometimes my enjoyment of music is tied too closely to any critical work, but here, it felt nice to discover that a record moved me in ways that weren't so obvious or immediate. Maybe it's not a perfect record, but it’s the sort of thing we grapple with in the name of truly good, substantive art.