Epic Hooks And Baggage
It's tempting to say that Pythons is better than it has a right to be, but that's not entirely fair to Surfer Blood, the Florida group that birthed it: for it's silly to presuppose their song-craft should suffer due to front-man John Jacob Pitts' recent legal troubles, a subject of much consternation on the Internets To assume it'd be affected, though? A different story altogether. Astro Coast, the band 2010 debut, balanced charming, lo-fi rock with hi-fidelity hooks, many of which housed optimistic turns of phrase at every turn (from opener "Twin Peaks": Why is everything a chore? / I'm too young to be defeated.) Such sentiments might seem a reach now and, to their credit, Pitts & Co have realized it: their sophomore effort is equal parts sunny and disquieting, rife with jagged edges and sharp as shrapnel riffs. They haven't gone Griderman or Metz on us, but they're not so far from that either.
OK, to be clear: "Demon Dance" is full of bright chords and incessant melodies -- the group's calling cards de jour; but the guitars practically drown Pitts out early on, only yielding when he shrieks unexpectedly. Genuinely wild vocals are Pythons most striking component -- alternately dull, yearning, and feral, sometimes all at once. The growled refrain of first single "Weird Shapes" approximates Geoff Rickley fronting Rooney, lacing shimmering ax-work to violent imagery : "Squeamish voyeur / sick destroyer / Shaking down / Hit the ground." Pitts lyrics never directly address those domestic battery charges filed against him last November, but their presence is palpable throughout. "I Was Wrong" marries guilty admissions to grungy slow-core verses; "Demon Dance" paints a portrait of sleazy charlatans, and album highlight "Squeezing Blood" seems to spell it out plain: "Damning allegations have come to light / Stapled to the background in black and white / And that's the way it's always been / And that's the way it's going to end...In total, in total / You like me plausibly deniable." It's disquieting, off-putting, but like many of Python's lyrics, horribly hypnotic: jet-black truths rarely ride on choruses this sunny. What's more, they're well-delved into -- a feat easier said than done. If the alternately smug and sorrowful sentiments of "Needles And Pins" don't capture the volatility of youth effortlessly, I'm a fast jabroni.
And as for those sunny choruses? They're practically blinding -- "Gravity" rides its 90s-ready riff to ecstatic highs, and not long after the brilliant"Slow Six" settles into a spacey bombast Astro Coast only hinted at. That they decimate said atmosphere with bomb-like bass thuds by song's end speaks to a burgeoning confidence and GIl Norton's on-point production. There's not a moment on Pythons that's too clean or distorted -- a delicate balance Norton's struck on Foo Fighters' albums since forever ago.
But while it'd be nice to say Surfer Blood channel Dave Grohl on Pythons, it actually reminds me of another "P" record, also made under troubling circumstances. Neither was well-received by critics; both embraced a starkness alienating and affecting. And no, Pythons isn't Pinkerton Deux -- in content or quality -- but it's equally easy to undervalue now, while Pitts is sort of indie rock's Chris Brown. The key phrase is "sort of:" whatever Pitts did or didn't do (and however unforgivable it is), he's crafted a scathing, sympathy-free portrait of himself that may speak to scores of listeners with Cuomo-like potency So while Pythons isn't better than it has a right to be, it is better in ways that few were expecting. They've seen the metaphor of their most well known song through with flying colors: when the waters grow choppy and bracing, swim to reach the end.