Black Lips: Arabia Mountain

I feel like I'm going to owe you guys an article that examines, in-depth, the current trend towards retro, nostalgia, or vintage sound in modern-day rock. It's a card that gets played more and more throughout the past decade to the point where much of what I have reviewed already, will be reviewing shortly, or have my eye on for the future, could be classified quite handily as "retro" efforts. I have my own thoughts on what it means, why it might be a good thing, why artists do it, and who it's for, but as this is a review of the Black Lips album, I want desperately to keep my remarks limited to the album in question, as usual.

"Retro" in this case refers to the Black Lips' handiness with the 60s surf rock form, and their ability to infuse it with light touches of psychedelia. So here is an album that is very action-packed, very much in motion.

The bulk of the album is comprised of propulsive rock numbers, the likes of which would get any kid moving in an early 60's beach blanket film, with guitars the chime out and overlap like the waves themselves. That opening riff on "Family Tree" in particular sounds like feet shakily standing up on a board as the big one approaches (I don't know anything more about surfing than could be learned from movies.) The vocals themselves quickly break out into craziness rather than a nice, polite, Jan & Dean reading. And so you are brought into the world of surfpunk. The second track, "Modern Art," features a neat overlapping call and response between the vocals and the guitars, and its raucous harmonies in the chorus set out the tactic for much of the album.

Other great more-or-less straight rock workouts on the album include the circular spinning "Go Out and Get It," "Time," "New Direction," which excitedly sets out for the horizon, and the Bo Diddleyish "Don't Mess Up My Baby." Handclaps keep the mood sunny and beachlike, but the dried out vocals keep the album in dry land, while in other places it spins out toward the stars.

The album often turns for the psychedelic, sometimes in unexpected places. Sometimes it's just by letting a guitar solo get crazier than you'd think at the end of "Go Out And Get It", or by throwing themselves so raggedly into the vocals on a song like "Dumpster Dive" or the the biting saxophone of "Mad Dog." "The Lie" propels itself with breathless paranoia, and "Mr. Driver" gasps and wheezes with exhaustion, with an always ear-catching line about "My sexual Viet Cong." One of my favourites is the dark-tinted, shimmering "Bicentennial Man," which is thankfully way more enjoyable an experience (and far shorter) than the film by that name. Its thundering drums and ringing guitars make it a highlight of the album, and in contrast to the low-key vocals on that track, make it emblematic of the Lips' character. "Bone Marrow" separates all the compositional elements and slowly goes about reuniting them. Elsehwere, like "Raw Meat" or "Noc-A-Homa," they just go nuts. The singalong bits really knock me out because they capture the spirit of unity on this record: everyone at the same party having a kickass time together, but singing in their own voices.

With any retro affair, you're left with the pertinent, yet boring and ultimately irrelevant question of fidelity: does it sound just like the 60's? No, the band really revels in the advancements of what a recording group is allowed to get away with nowadays, from those raucous vocals that straddle the line between carefree and careless, and access to random instruments at a whim. It does, however, carry the spirit of an album from those days, of easygoing good times, married to the kind of free-associating studio expanse that Brian Wilson was starting to dig when he lost his marble.

The album does stumble a couple of times. I'm not personally fond of "Spidey's Lament," the only bona fide ballad on the album, which tries to put the story of Peter Parker in a different context. It doesn't work for me as a Spidey fan or as someone who wants to hear this album get going, although it's a decent enough tune and very vintage to those early 60's Phil Spector records that influence the album. The ringing guitar in it is better than the song itself. The closing track, "You Keep On Running" is the ultimate extension of the album's psychedelic interest, which sacrifices the energy of the surfpunk for spacey weirdness. The best bits of the album feel spontaneous and lively, which probably explains why the best tracks are all under 3 minutes.

In general here's an album with character, even in those weaker moments. That character adds spice to an already fun listen, which will inspire many re-listens because it's so easy to get caught up in the spirit and speed and rhythm of each individual track, and to want to get really familiar with them so that you know what cool, weird thing is coming up around the corner.

Buy this album now: iTunes // Amazon.com // Amazon.ca