by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
I often think about, and occasionally reference, this excellent Karl Ove Knausgård quote from Autumn, 2015:
"And maybe that is why the nostalgia I feel is so powerful, because the utopia has vanished from our time, so that longing can no longer be directed forward, but only backwards, where all its force accumulates."
You’ve got to love those feel-good, unwaveringly optimistic Norwegians. I certainly agree — we’re collectively obsessed with the past, from movies and fashion to an unwavering love affair with the McRib. At what point does this unfettered retro-mania just become the norm? Then, as an extension of that, when do we expect artists and musicians to mine the past as if it were the cultural default? Can we ever get good enough where it all feels perfectly organic, where our nostalgia stinks less of desperation and/or boredom and becomes something earnest and pure and all around unassuming?
It can if we’re all a little more like Curfews. With the excellently-titled Psalms to Strip to, the Michigan band expertly blur the past and present into something that honors without commodifying, and samples without gorging themselves outright on the marrow of indie rock’s yesteryear. Mostly.
Sure, if you go into the album seeking a lot of nostalgia-tinged odds and ends, the quartet are more than happy to deliver. There’s plenty of big chunky power chords ("Death in Spring" plays like Superchunk on adderall, and "Yesterday's Flowers" is power-pop playfulness meets prog majesty); vocals alternating between irksome and cutesy ("Torn Pocket" manages to remain a playful song amid this dynamic); and '90s-style weirdness ("Guard on Duty" feels like the lost live-child of The Flaming Lips and Deadeye Dick). Oh, and "Golden Violence" may be the best Ted Leo song he never actually wrote, but to simply label Curfews as yet another '90s-aping gang of rockers feels super dismissive. It ignores those qualities about that band in which they shape an overarching appreciation into true artistry.
Those aforementioned songs, for instance, go beyond merely distilling something essential about that era. "Torn Pocket" provides a greater sense of pacing and overall intensity to the '90s alt rock structure; it's a mostly little decision that makes things feel more frenetic, and aligned a little closer with some revival-adjacent emo. "Death in Spring," meanwhile, does a really amazing job of building up and de-emphasizing that extra sweet hook, and in doing so, it makes the song feel all the more dynamic. Songs like "Yesterday's Flowers" and "Guard on Duty" both show a deep but unassuming technical prowess.
I think they're generally subtle, but these conscious decisions readily emphasize the band's influences while trying to do something new or novel without feeling entirely removed from the larger tradition. They’re not about needlessly worshiping or changing the past for a sense of credibility but finding the space between where true magic can occur. Ultimately, it makes the band seem extra savvy in their ways, and the sort of next wave act that are less about wide-eyed groveling and more ready to build things into the future.
That sense of the future is exemplified in the album's two closing tracks. If the title alone weren't exceptional, "American Rising TNT" does a lot in distilling and redeploying some late-stage emo, a dash of prog rock, and some giant alt rock anthem-ballad — a track that's triumphant without losing its overall intimacy. Or "Trophy Case," which to an extent, further plays around with melting influences together while also doing more interesting things with the song's pacing and mostly perfect lo-fi production quality.
I wouldn't say these two are highlights per say — "Torn Pocket" remains a perfect sampler of this LP — but they do show what the band are capable of when their approach to "vintage" music reaches its natural high point of overall efficiency and enthusiasm. They feel like everything I've wanted from bands who grew up with the likes of Pavement and Mudhoney — which is to say, taking these elements and energies into the future with grace and heart.
I get the sense that Curfews efforts weren't entirely plotted out. That if they'd accomplished even a small part of what I've described, it's almost exclusively on accident. Yet that just makes the band all the more charming and compelling. Collectively, they saw the bright nostalgic past and the blank, terrifying future and decided to bridge the gap with a subtlety and playfulness that not every band can foster.
They made a solid record that honors the past and never forgets that the real lesson was always to do your own thing. They’ve commemorated what-was and also smashed it into a million little pieces at the same dang time, and they did it with a passion and presence that's bound less to an era and more an idea of all good artists. That matters here; stagnation happens when bands ape without their own ideas, and Curfews only care about their heroes if it means they can build atop their massive shoulders.
If we're once more using Mr. Knausgård as a kind of litmus test, I'd say Curfews force doesn’t either emanate or accumulate from the past, present, or future, but wherever it is great rock songs truly exist.