Jun. 02, 2010 - Issue #763: Nextfest

Say It

Say It
Born Ruffians {recordings_bands_mg} Say It {/recordings_bands_mg}
Paper Bag, 2010

Born Ruffians' debut, Red, Yellow and Blue, was immediately catchy for its big, bouncy pop hooks, but it holds up to closer scrutiny thanks mostly to its subtler juxtaposition. The bright pop—which was actually remarkably complex not only for a relatively stripped-down three-piece, but for something that hit so immediately and potently—was often backing lyrics by frontman Luke LaLonde that were if not necessarily dark, at least full of longing, confusion, touches of melancholy and sometimes marked disdain, the tunefully frustrated travails of someone coming up into an adult world that's no less certain or clear than an adolescent one. Complex emotions and direct songcraft swirled into something that had both wit and energy to spare.

There are still moments of this heady mix on the group's second full-length, Say It, but more often both LaLonde's lyrics and the band's sound have become more like the other, which isn't necessarily an improvement. Musically, though the group is obviously drawing on a wider pallette, the band is far more sedate, and LaLonde has responded with sentiments that are often a bit simpler, and Born Ruffians works better when it's letting the frontman revel in his measured confusion while the band blitzes along, capturing his underlying but more lively frustration.

A pretty good example of this is "What to Say," where LaLonde's simple ruminations on being tongue-tied are laconically laid out over a backing track that's sleepy as Sunday morning, the rhythm section competing for who can sound more laid back. The combination makes the sentiments sound less like soul-searching than a minor annoyance, like he might as well be complaining about burnt toast. Compare to a track like RY&B's "I Need a Life," which ripped through worries about loserdom with the pent-up energy of a reluctant shut-in, and it suffers even more.

Luckily for the group, the members have a very natural ear for pop to fall back on that rescues some of their unfortunate tendancies here. "The Ballad of Moose Bruce" is a kind of lament for a lost man, but it's braced against a steady drum thump and lets itself loose in its last moment in a kind of exultant cacophony. Album opener "Oh Man" rides a groovy rhythm section and an occasional wail through a song that blames the victim for a cheating lover, while closer "At Home Now" channels the slacker spirit of '90s college fuzz rock into the band's lament-pop framework, and proves that the players can write a song that's laid back but still interesting.

That, at least, is enough to leave some hope that the group just needs to grow into this new skin a bit more. It has, after all, stepped out a bit of the comfort zone on the second album; now the members just need to figure out how to balance what they're learning with what they know. V   vueweekly.com comments: powered by Disqus