#referential critique

[heather-hardy]

Referential Critique of "Vices" by Brand New (updated)

Looking back, it is surprising to me how vividly I can recall my first listen-through of Daisy, the highly anticipated fourth full-length release from alternative rock powerhouse Brand New. I was only fourteen at the time when I eagerly rushed home from school to devote forty minutes to listening to my favorite band and what would surely be their next masterpiece. Although there is no way I can recall my specific initial reactions to the work, I can attempt to experience it in its immediacy by disregarding my knowledge of where shifts in the song occur. Through this mode of listening, I feel that “Vices” evokes the same sense of shock I felt when I felt it, tinged with uncertain satisfaction and crescendoing into breathless anticipation.

Regardless of whether one is familiar with Brand New’s work prior to Daisy, “Vices” immediately places the listener in a state of confusion with a record player’s low, scratchy hum and a clearly antiquated recording of a song that is not sung by Brand New’s vocalist, Jesse Lacey. There is a sense of unease accompanied with this recording, whose placement is undoubtedly bizarre in an alternative rock song and almost eerily saccharine; an active listener wonders if the entire first track consists only of this recording, and feels a degree of anxiety over the sheer bizarreness behind the artistic choice.

Anxiety also manifests itself in the harsh hammering of noise from Brand New’s members that makes up the rest of the track, a ruthless assault by means of sound that makes my heart pound with apprehensive awe. The listener feels as if a fight is about to break lose from the chaotic and violent confrontation brought by Vince Accardi’s distorted guitar riffs coupled with Jesse Lacey’s visceral screams, and depending on one’s musical tastes, this brutality could be overwhelming and alienating. Throughout the song, I get a disorienting sense that I’m free falling through the air, or maybe even experiencing a terrifyingly bad acid trip; I feel the presence of something discomforting, sinister, and even supernatural. Personally, I delight in the rawness, I accept my ominous fate. It is a rare occurrence for a song to make me feel like it wants to punch me in the face and suck out my soul at the same time, and I couldn’t love it more. Perhaps that says more about myself than it does about the song.

[heather-hardy]

Referential Critique of “Vices” by Brand New

Looking back, it is surprising to me how vividly I can recall my first listen-through of Daisy, the highly anticipated fourth full-length release from alternative rock powerhouses Brand New. I was only fourteen at the time when I eagerly rushed home from school to devote forty minutes to listening to my favorite band and what would surely be their next masterpiece. Although there is no way I can recall my specific initial reactions to the work, listening to the starting track of the album, “Vices,” evokes the same sense of shock I first felt, tinged with uncertain satisfaction and crescendoing into breathless anticipation.

As someone familiar with Brand New’s previous work, “Vices” immediately placed me in a state of confusion with the opening of a record player’s low, scratchy hum and a clearly antiquated recording of a song that is not sung by Brand New’s vocalist, Jesse Lacey. There is a sense of unease accompanied with this recording, whose placement is undoubtedly bizarre in an alternative rock song; as an active listener, I wondered if the entire first track would only consist of this recording, and considered how the band might have opened with such strangeness to immediately divorce their sound from their more predictable, less genre-bending earlier work. I can even recall feeling a degree of anxiety over the sheer bizarreness behind the artistic choice.

It is difficult to remember how I might’ve reacted when the song reached 1 minute and 25 seconds, or the end of the recording without transition into a harsh hammering of noise from Brand New’s members, but I imagine my heart probably jumped out of my chest. The abrupt change occurs not only in sound but also in nature, from saccharine eeriness to violent confrontation. The listener feels as if a fight is about to break lose from the sudden arrival at chaos. Vince Accardi’s distorted guitar riffs coupled with Jesse Lacey’s visceral screams were overwhelming for me as a fourteen-year-old just beginning to broach the outskirts of my developing adult musical tastes, but when I listen to them now, I delight in the rawness, smile at the brutality. A disorienting guitar solo makes me feel like I’m free falling through the air, or evokes what I imagine might feel like a bad acid trip; hollow background vocals feel discomforting, sinister, and even supernatural. I feel a sense of release that I share with Lacey as he screeches “those days are dead,” lyrics of which I can only personally assume signify the band’s rejection of their previous sound and unapologetic establishment of their new presence. The sheer fury characterizing this presence highlights maturity from the band’s debut release eight years earlier as angsty teenage punks. In “Vices,” I hear how their brazen, no-fucks-given attitude has transcended spiteful lyrics and now shows itself in sheer fury that undoubtedly alienated some of their most devoted fans. With this evolution, “Vices” makes a statement on artists bluntly defying expectation and defining intention to reclaim their work.