by Chris Coplan
Long have I struggled with the burden of novelty.
I always assumed that all important art sought to uncover fresh insights into the human experience. (Or say something that sounded inventive enough.) But age and time have proven me dead wrong. Novelty is great, but it’s the sprinkles on a loaded sundae; folks are gorging themselves on the sweet, familiar smack of vanilla ice cream.
It’s that understanding that helped position Bullseye’s self-titled LP land not for its overwrought nostalgia but instead this refreshing tinge of prowess, sincerity, and commitment.
It’s an especially impressive feat as the NYC-via-Minnesota band leaned hard into retromania, framing the LP (via press material) as "if Gene Clark never made it to L.A." What was this alt Clark doing instead? Well, "[holding] it together in the Midwest and [making] beer-sipping music for a bunch of ham-and-eggers..." Now, if you were just looking for Gene Clark from Earth 69420 (and anything of his ilk), Bullseye serves it up like the aforementioned breakfast platter.
"Angel's Share" is quintessential Clark-ian Americana, with those sleepy guitars, down-home sensibilities, and rootsy charm (like your pool guy killed it during open mic). "Get Started" simultaneously channels Big Star and Buffalo Springfield (two tent-poles of the record's reported ethos), exuding a two-beers-and-a-broken-heart approach that's endlessly familiar. And if you squint your ears (that’s right), "Kid" is basically Tom Petty circa Full Moon Fever. All of it’s done exceedingly well to tap into the emotional reserves and overall relevance of these uber talented bands that Bullseye seemingly idolize.
Still, if you want to walk the path of Clark, Blue Ash, gBv, etc., you’re decades too late. (And to simply march around the same dive bars/country fields would be a disservice to the integrity triumphed by said bands.) Fortunately, Bullseye have pushed past other, less curious acts to maintain their singular charm and creative swagger throughout the full project.
The discussion of broken hearts and all-consuming, toxic relationships across "Angel's Share" emphasizes the heft of a modern pop guru; the end result is sharper, with a decidedly modern zip and utility. "Get Started" doesn't have that same oomph (a good thing as Bullseye vary their approach), but it exudes a self-awareness that's unseen in these musical parts ("I remember trying to steal your songs"). Plus, "Kid" is so spot-on that it basically transcends "tribute" status into the territory of some Petty-esque cohort.
The band have expertly cultivated the same energies and ideas with heaps of added grit and determination. They've spun those other records a million times until they’ve become almost second nature, and anything they do is a continuation of near-biological and existential imperatives. It’s basically breathing for the group, and they maintain an honesty, desire, devotion, and enthusiasm that makes you forget about time and context. All you feel is that ample longing for lost love, the twang of a certain power chord in your heart, and the way warm beer tastes on a sunny day in Lincoln/Gainesville/etc.
It's why "Blue Eye Blues" works even more effectively — that ending is a cliched Southern Rock slow burn, but that succinctness, passion, and intention is truly satisfying. It's also why – at 104 seconds – "Dangers Of The Heart" is a novel-ish heartbreak anthem. With almost no wiggle room, Bullseye prove refreshing by leaving just as much unsaid. This nervous, excited sense also explains why the two bonus tracks ("Tell Tale Signs" and "Everything Is True") are the record's absolute best. The former ups the Nuggets vibes by 13%, the latter feels more chaotic and belligerent, and both balance creative deviation with endless perfectionism and obsession. (The fact that they're bonuses is a commentary about the band's creative balancing act.)
Heaps of bands are engaged in similar, seemingly earnest pursuits – mining the past for shiny gems only to update it (with varying degrees of success). Bullseye operate in a way that’s this wondrous combination of subtle and understated. They're not so much updating the past, but instead framing it in a way where the relevance and impact of these bands feels contextualized for a new audience and era. Inversely, they're not so much innovating as continuing key traditions, extending it all outward like some kind of patchwork of sounds/ideas.
They care about the past just enough to nail what works, but always make sure it sounds real even if you’re a Clark agnostic. They want to forge their own path in the future, but the past is this inescapable celestial body where all the best versions of the truth exist.
When I was a dumb teen, I might have dismissed this record for being nostalgic to the point of obsolescence (like how we’ve bred Pugs with breathing problems). But me at 40 doesn't care that, technically speaking, Bullseye aren't doing anything new (even as, once again, they're pushing that newness in all the smallest, most important ways). Because when I hear this record, I don't feel the gap between then and now; I feel myself stretching across time to connect all the stuff in my brain and heart.
I recognize more readily that people's nostalgia isn't always born of frustration and creative entropy; it can also be born out of that simple desire to connect with the past as a challenge. Nostalgia not as some salve, but more wood for the fire; newer, more helpful voices in your head; and fresh fabric to adorn yourself.
Luckily, I learned these "lessons" before I'd ever heard Bullseye (even if it still didn’t happen soon enough). But this album reminds me that the past is always right there – we can embrace it and play with it and generally muck about however and whenever we so choose. All that's seemingly required is a desire to bridge past and present in a way that serves both, to suss out how the world still turns in specific ways and what it all really means.
Bullseye have slowly, deliberately shown us that rehashing the past means something if you're fearless, fun, and dedicated to the things that always work. Like good vibes, the pursuit of love (or at least lust), cool buds, and honoring the eternally real.
So long, novelty — hello authenticity like a tooled leather belt.