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The
Get Up Kids
Guilt Show
(Vagrant)
Dull. Uninspired. Directionless. Not terms commonly reserved
for the Get Up Kids. Partly because their extensive discography,
while not on the forefront of the critically praised, appeals
to a great number of listeners with a soft spot for music’s
emotional refuge. Since their early 7”s, they have celebrated
the bittersweet, often cathartic energy that revolved around
healing the broken heart. One that lay threadbare and in direct
aim of their lyrical montage, painted to great depth by self-effacing
lines (“your place is at the heart of what I do everything's
for you / every time I run away / it's easier to stay”)
and observations of what is lost in distance (“I’ve
got pictures to prove I was there / but you don't care”).
They were perhaps the words of one, but felt by many.
The Red Letter Day EP, still their most complete and
affecting work, echoed with the caustic fangs of sorrow that,
in their perfect tuneful reverberation, left an impressive mark
of sincerity (although at times described as a little mawkish).
Is there a better reflection of resentful lost felt than “Anne
Arbour”? The agony was beautiful, and the empathy not
lost through the frayed romance. The triumph that followed was
simply majestic; Something to Write Home About was
the personification of what we all are at times – “out
of sight, out of mind, out of reach” – left but
the wilting memories with nothing more than frail goodbyes and
a postcard. It was a record that spoke to those who spent the
waiting by the phone. Built on endless aphorisms of love and
lost, songs like “Valentine” and “Out of Reach”
were rich in emotional appeal. While the Get Up Kids were not
the architects of this tender-laden genre, they were one of
the select few who propelled it into the many heart-shaped boxes
of music’s thin-skinned aftertaste. As the lush harmony
of “I’ll Catch You” faded away, there was
certain assurance that their unkempt adoration would never follow.
Such a collection would have needed either a greater successor,
or a shift in direction to lessen the temptation of resting
on laurels and accomplishment. And how often it is that one
finds the difficulty in writing with heightened poignancy rests
not in the initial plunge, but the falling thereafter; searching
for similar ground and radiance. So they did – fall that
is. The new musical horizons On A Wire featured proved
that maybe the Get Up Kids weren’t ready for such a change
in direction; the listeners certainly weren’t. The grainy
scope and emphasis on more unrefined textures was possibly the
only way to demonstrate growth in such curbed ambiance. Gone
amidst their new found bearing was the graceful sentimentality
that had become the cornerstone of their sound; and as the music
fought for recognition the allure grew dispassionate.
How do you again achieve that emotive past? For the Get Up Kids
perhaps, it is fairly obvious. Parallels to Something to
Write Home About need to be retraced, and as frustrating
as it must be for a musician to have to once again trundle down
a beaten path, these are but the few options for those seeking
adoration amongst a disappointed audience. The landscape itself
has changed however, and in the years since their fateful album
much of the surrounding vistas have blossomed (or overpopulated)
into a patchy, often hazy scene of never-should-haves and really-never-should-haves.
As Guilt Show seems to so eagerly display; they have
all but forgotten the dusty backlots of On A Wire and
have rediscovered the use of more stable rock-entangled-pop
characteristics. Yet as they bungle through these thirteen songs,
it is clear they are not so keen on giving up their desire to
earn musical respect. And for the first time, a Get Up Kids
album can be summed up simply as dull, uninspired and directionless.
From the laid back Brit-pop apostrophes of “Holy Roman”
(sounding plenty like they’ve been listening to The Coral
or Porcupine-era Echo & the Bunnymen) to the garish
chirpiness of “In Your Sea” (kitschy summertime
AM radio castoff), there seems to be great affliction in focusing
on a distinct approach. Instead, most of Guilt Show
feels like a band trying their best to sound as relevant as
possible. The incredibly theatrical “Is There A Way Out”
is a lesson of torment, carved in gloomy progressive dreadfulness
while “Never Be Alone” is very much equal in drag
to the On A Wire track “Walking On A Wire.”
The instances where they do tread on familiar sounds seem at
times overly effusive. “How Long Is Too Long?” and
“Man Of Conviction” would have fit nicely with their
earlier work, but the latter is clumsy; replete with hand-claps
and a trailing piano line that screams confusion. “Martyr
Me” (and maybe to some extent “Sympathy”)
is the album’s lone moment of engaging complexity. Most
similar in its composition to “Red Letter Day” and
“Mass Pike”, it is a song phosphorescent with the
gleam of earnest melancholy; finally resuming the sense of moving.
It is however, a wonder how the rest of the songs are so lacking
in any real tension, richness or profundity. The lyrics, once
rife with searing piquancy, are now devoid of any lasting characteristics.
Witness the choral aloofness of “Never Be Alone”;
“Ohhhhhhhhhh / That’s just the way we go / No matter
how the dice didn't roll / You’ll never be alone”
– not exactly “I still wear your heart around my
throat.”
This is a scary place to be, for both listener and band –
the visible path traced post-Something To Write Home About
is a distinct nosedive into forgettable. It says plenty that
the New Amsterdams’ Worse for the Wear is endlessly
better than Guilt Show. In essence, the Get Up Kids
have become dilettantes of their own art; seemingly lost in
an overwhelming wave of misdirection and desire to appease wanton
listeners. The underlining sentiment that resides here is an
unmistakable lack of sincerity; everything the title purports
it to be. And perhaps they could search through their own words
to find the hollow cries of “start over, start over”,
but it is very much clear, they wouldn’t know where to
begin.
Reviewed by
Billy Maulana
February 16th, 2004 |
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