Are we still, gentle reader, interested in the connection between successive guten MORGAN postings, even as this evolves into more of a disjointed “weekly new releases” column? Yeah? Then I’ve got another one for you. Last week I mentioned the Ian Curtis biopic Control in my rave review of A Place To Bury Strangers’ Exploding Head. This week, I’m offering more reserved praise for the new Raveonettes album, In and Out of Control, now available for purchase throughout our fair land.
I suspect this comment has been made by other reviewers, but The Raveonettes are a band much more in than out of control on this release, though it’s those occasional latter moments that provide most of the album’s appeal. Indeed, the band is consistent here to the point that there’s something middle of the road about this workmanlike effort, despite its occasional moments of exuberance and spontaneity. I don’t suspect that this consistency surprises any listeners. Lust Lust Lust, The Raveonettes’ last full-length, was also extraordinarily consistent, though it had going for it a simple greatness and refreshing faith in the full-album format. Whispery, provocative vocals with dark melodies straight from the dyed-hair hearts of teenage goth girls everywhere (maybe the ones who will someday go to Smith but, for now, roam Hot Topic’s aisles with a vague sense of embarrassment over the vampire fangs and bondage pants). Lust Lust Lust’s consistency and m.o.r. production values took the edge off its genius but there was, on some level, a claim to genius visible in its execution. In And Out Of Control is a pretty good album with pretty good tunes but that’s probably about all; the band’s flaws aren’t new (first album recorded entirely in a single key, we know we know) but when the music is less effectively distracting, the flaws and the formula become more evident.
What’s odd is that this isn’t even a monochromatic album, both on an absolute scale and compared with the band’s other records. Despite the remarkable thematic consistency (check out the track listing, in order: Bang!, Gone Forever, Last Dance, Boys Who Rape (Should All Be Destroyed), Heart of Stone, Oh I Buried You Today, Suicide, D.R.U.G.S., Breaking Into Cars, Breakup Girls, and Wine), it also seems schizophrenic. Not so much from song to song; while The Raveonettes try different approaches on different tracks (Gone Forever is a delightful meetup between Cyndi Lauper, The Siddeleyes, and There Is A Light That Never Goes Out. Oh I Buried You Today is all 50s, pre-jail Ron Spector girl group harmonies. Breaking Into Cars sounds particularly Ladytron-esque. Break Up Girls is noisy, Wine is a dirge, you get the picture, there’s diversity, etc. etc.) the overall production and sense of tunefulness here is sufficiently consistent (that word again) to unify everything into a whole.
The most telling inconsistencies, the “out of control” moments, occur not over the course of entire tracks but within them. When the band tosses off verses they can be magnificent. When they drop in a heavy handed chorus, the mood and the goodwill they’ve generated is shattered (see Suicide, the most egregious and frustrating example of this). The cheeky way in which Sharin pouts the word “fuckers” on Boys Who Rape could make up for the thousand pardons required by its title and straight-ahead chorus (though for my money, you may as well listen to Hearts and Crosses by Heavenly if you’re in the mood for this sort of thing). Seriously, most of the choruses on this album are made for slo-mo shots in Nike ads. It’s a problem when I roll my eyes midway through a song.
On that cranky note: perhaps some subtlety is lost in the Danish to English translation, but hot on the heels after a record entitled Lust Lust Lust, mightn’t what appears to be a concept album about self-destructive teenagers be an overly-literal interpretation of Vice’s subject-matter mandates? The Raveonettes, by contrast again with APTBS and the timeless references of their own name, seem overly contrived by this point, with undisguised aspirations to live a major-label “rock and roll lifestyle” that rings as dated and flat as the kid who gets a rock haircut at Bumble & Bumble, lives on the Lower East Side, and is at best only vaguely aware that a venue in Williamsburg exists by the name of Death By Audio. The group frequently romanticizes New York and occasionally resides here but this is the New York of brunches at Delicatessen before a stop at Other Music, rather than than breakfast at Tina’s after an all-night show at Market Hotel.
So please enjoy the tracks below (Last Dance, Hearts of Stone, and D.R.U.G.S. are also particularly nice, straight-ahead rockers), but try to enjoy them for those moments and insights that the band doesn’t “control.”
-guten MORGAN
- SuicideSuicide
- Boys Who Rape (Should All Be Destroyed)Boys Who Rape (Should All Be Destroyed)
- Bang!Bang
