Loretta - The Translation
Much of The Translation is built around the concepts of greater, more patient songwriting.
What does it say about an artist when a listener can most accurately predict the expected duration of the artist’s career moments into scrutinizing their work? The truth of the matter is that side-projects, in-betweeners, hold-overs and career stopgaps have become a pollutant in the blossoming of great spanning musical portfolios. Longevity has become novelty in more than one respect. On one hand, long serving artists remain testaments that the writing of song is far greater than merely looking for means to pay off debts, scoring late night tour bus ménages and a vapid home for music television to pimp. There is of course the flipside to this coin; longevity in career also means Aerosmith making the same crazy-crying-amazing song for the hundredth time, and Def Leppard hocking their crap at Wal-Marts across America.
Still, in times of such fickle romance, any band that has several decent-to-good albums within them deserves certain praise. Because lets face it, once a group stumbles across any marketable trait, it will be whored out to every conceivable outlet imaginable. So it is with great joy to discover that Loretta, brimming with expendable talent and guile, have yet to be obliterated by the hollow call of “next big things” (congratulations to all of you out there who so eagerly tag bands with this truly repulsive condemnation; we critics who yearn to tear down fragile egos falsely massaged by clueless pundits thank you for the endless supply of tripe we can throw our bile at) and fashionable spreads. Simply put, Loretta’s cross breeding of U2’s finer songwriter moments with Sunny Day Real Estate’s (an accurate portrayal if there ever was one) sheer emotional sheen puts them in a class unknown to many.
It would not be an unimaginable thought if we were to someday see Loretta’s members repose in the majesties of revolutionary music videos, accepting awards donned in Ray-Ban suaveness while undertaking humanitarian tours of Africa. Much like their Irish brethren, they eschew the norms of modern plastic songwriting and undertake the far daunting task of creating aural novels of thought, emotional resonance and profundity. The first single, “The Fire,” is very much in tone with this majestic building of connectivity. Structured with soaring vocals and sweeping guitar melodies, “The Fire” echoes with powerful instances of sonic optimism – building solid plateaus before fast reaching far into the clouds of a seemingly unreachable auditory swagger. Equally impressive, “Collide” adopts a far more solemn approach and a tune that could have easily been plucked off SDRE’s Diary, save from the beautiful, arching refrain that is both stunning and yearning.
Much of The Translation is built around the concepts of greater, more patient songwriting. There is no real, overwhelming sense of immediacy, yet it does little to detract from the music (except in the mind of those who bear short attention spans: you can keep watching TV) – instead the songs unfold in more intricate, grander steps. From the reflective pull of “Adonais” (showcasing spirited guitar work The Edge would be proud of) to the more ominous tenor of “The Morning After,” (their most Thom Yorke inspired moment) the album puts before anything else the importance of sound-as-vision.
Such great things can be said to those who have not forgotten the significance of endurance over reflexive means to attention. Loretta’s The Translation is in a word, inspired. With attention paid to the idea that songs can be long lasting, it displays certain magnetism and a keen sense of longevity that has become an elusive trait. It could very well be their Joshua Tree.
(Benchmark Records)