by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
In my brain, there’s no difference between supergroups and stunt snacks, because Monsters of Folk (which featured members of Bright Eyes and My Morning Jacket) tried to do the same thing as when Takis released their Scorpion BBQ special edition chips. That is, combine things that people love, or are mesmerized by, in the name of making something that’s somehow better than the original components. The question, then, isn't if it should be done at all (we must always fly ever closer to the taste-making sun), but if the end result is scrumptious or an abomination to both the snack and rock gods.
In the case of Spiral Dub (comprised of members from DIIV, Life Stinks, Mane, and Fuckwolf), they’re sort of like when when Carl's Jr. unveiled the Pop-Tart Ice Cream Sandwich: a sweet creation that stokes the nostalgia gland and shocks the system with icing-smooth jams. It’s really important to look at the band as you would, say, a Grilled Cheese Dipping Taco, and that, inevitably, begins with the packaging. Spiral Dub fancy themselves as "laced party jive," that is "peppered with acid punk nihilism and with bright beams of pop shining through the clouds." That aesthetic -- whatever it might actually mean -- informs the look and feel of this motley configuration of indie rockers. In turn, that defines a lot of the tentpoles of this record, infusing a certain sheen and accompanying expectations. You know what you’re getting here, and it’s like drinking absinthe and eating a White Castle cheeseburger.
Digging beyond that initial promise, there’s something more substantial abounding. It’s here where the album presents itself as something both thoughtful and inventive -- like cheese inside a pizza crust -- and also just the same ol’ fast food burrito. Which is to say, when dealing with songs in that latter half, they’re tasty if not entirely filling. "Rainbow," for instance, is every Osees and Ty Segall-adjacent slice of psychedelic garage rock we've heard over the last fifteen years. Still, those swirling, lo-fi guitars and super slacker vocals are very much the best instance of this "genre." Meanwhile, "Beginning To Begun" spins more freak folk-ian energies into the mix, and it's a solid example of how a few light touches do wonders for modulating the aesthetic of their deeply nostalgic rock sampling. Even something like "Hang From The Line" works really well -- the fact that it's very much a Pavement jam always feels more joyous and freeing and never like mere sonic aping.
If you only had the first half or so of this eleven track bad boy, you might come away thinking that the band had done a pretty good job adding to the deluge of retro-tinted garage rock of this century. That’s certainly true in part because there's just enough oomph musically -- a solid chord, a great bridge, some random bit of junk noise -- to distinguish these songs while retaining that corresponding glow. But there's a moment -- right when track six, "Punch Me In The Face" kicks in -- where the band and the album transcend some of those initial confines for some truly elated indie rock.
That track, specifically, launches with a janky drum machine, and that move imbues everything that follows with some Trio-esque minimalist new wave vibes. If that's not your speed, "High As Fuck" could also be perceived as Pavement-esque, except there's something that screams more reckless, nigh-hedonistic in their homage, and that makes a mighty difference. At five minutes (the record's longest track), "Knockin' On My Head" is a wondrous and trippy sampler platter, cramming in every tasty hook and slice of weirdness that's made the rest of the record hum so vividly.
It's not just that these tracks have different sonic tidbits attached or larger thematic goals -- it's that it feels like the moment when it all stops being a thrill. Which is to say, when the band's excitement and tension coalesce and we get started with a proper record. It's certainly connected back to that first "batch" of songs musically and thematically, but there's something more deliberate driving things. It’s when the spicy Chicken Fries truly land.
It’s that idea, this sense of grander purpose, that really exemplifies why Spiral Dub’s so compelling. To bring back the whole overarching stunt snack motif, the first half is 3D Doritos -- a novel thing, for sure, but ultimately those tidbits rely on the initial buzz to make them feel exciting (and then we're simply left with Doritos). The second half, then, is like the combination Oreo-Ritz crackers. There's sentiments and energies that might not make initial sense, or seem as deliberately cool, but by leaning into what it wants, you get something that's utterly tasty (even if not quite as initially appealing to some folks). That encapsulates this LP: it's about intention.
When the band go from making music to trying to make a grander statement -- as the two halves fully represent -- everything clicks into place. The record as this living entity shifts from mostly good to having depth and personality. The layers in that second half find them building on their influences with courageous abandon; bringing in new sonic ideas with a "whatever's fun" approach; and treating this affair with a noticeable air of excitement over a tendency for minor preening. It's quite amazing to hear, nearly in real-time, the album come together in such a way that you can experience something altogether thrilling -- like watching as they make your sub sandwich.
It's my hope that the snack metaphor isn't too insulting (or dumb or misguided) because I think great rock 'n' roll is a lot like junk food: it may seem unimportant, and potentially damaging to your health, but there's a certain value to those notions. That, and sometimes the most chaotic and sugary things just affirm life in the best way imaginable. So, slap Spiral Dub on your plate and prepare to chow down on a true 4-ish-star meal.