A bare wire bass bumps and sputters, all by itself for an interval, then in conversation with a tense snare-heavy drum syncopation. Then, the guitars chime in, bright, lingering chords, then a friction-y scramble. Marc Leyda enters serenely, his delivery somewhere between a chant and a melody. It’s all very full of space, each part distinct and interlocking, at least until the chorus starts, a wild overload of everything that is nonetheless enticingly tuneful. It’s a whirl and a swirl and a tidal wave of shoe-gazy sonic sensation and very much the best part of the song — which is “Smile,” the first one on this debut album from Aluminum.
Comparisons to My Bloody Valentine, Swervedriver, Primal Scream and Happy Mondays are not entirely off the mark, in these overdriven guitar confections, which wail and scream and shriek and probably bust eardrums live, yet, on the record sound surprisingly gentle. The band, from San Francisco, convenes established talent from multiple other bands—guitarists Leyda and Austin Montanari from Wild Moth, singer-bassist Ryann Gonsalves from Torrey and drummer Chris Natividad from Marbled Eye, Public Interest and sundry other projects—and gives them room to run.
There’s a good deal of variation in these tracks. “Smile” and “Always Here, Never There,” sound most like My Bloody Valentine, while “HaHa” has a 4AD-ish dream pop drift. “Behind My Mouth,” though, has a hard-charging, psychedelic boogie-ing grooviness that might remind you of Primal Scream, alongside a girl punk bratty charm that sounds a bit like the Muffs. Since it’s the single, let’s unpack the elements, a spare, defiant drumbeat, Gonsalves spitting a disdainful “Huh,” someone else chuckling darkly, and then a rolling, spiraling, surging wave of guitar noise that moves with a swagger and purpose. Gonsalves has a soft, edgeless way of singing, but there are sharp bits lodged in the earworms. “Do you ever see behind my mouth?” is a taunt as much as a question; when you’re obsessing about her lips, you’re missing what she has to say.
Aluminum can also enter the serene, mind-bending spaces frequented by Spiritualized, as on the drift-y, dreaming “Call Me an Angel,” which spins out in hypnogogic circles only to snap back to the drumbeat, rock solid amid hallucinatory expanses.
The sound varies, combining different proportions of tune and squall in different songs. The balance is the thing: no matter how wildly the guitars howl, there’s a thread of melody, no matter how sweetly the vocal line runs, it’s braced by an unflinching thwack of drums. This is an album you can sing to or get lost in, that can provide solace or burn the whole house down. It’ll be one of my favorites for 2024 for sure.
