Gimmick, it’s not a good word is it? It makes you think of something flighty and insubstantial. It makes you think of reality shows and preening almost-models jazz swinging up songs from yesteryear.
And THE MAN. IT makes you think of THE MAN. Some evil little macro on an evil little excel spreadsheet somewhere that when you type in the word gimmick yields the result revenue stream.
Why this conjecture on the dystopian view of music?
Why, it’s only Smoosh – gimmick central. Like Hanson, but with girls, apart Hanson’s drummer whom we all know was a girl. WAS.
Anyway, it’s unfair that’s what I am driving at. Forget the gimmick element to this Seattle two-piece, I would also forget that they are so closely aligned to Death Cab for Cutie too. I didn’t say that, no Death cab here, move along.
I read a fair few things about Smoosh before I heard this new album. One review called it Edie Brickel – like. Now I can’t get that out of my head. It is true in a way; the vocals do stray toward that middle of the road in-offensiveness that you may find yourself defending to those mocking with “at least she can sing”.
But these are minor points, the songs hang together, each swoosh toward McCartney territory is quickly discarded in favour of those flattened indie chords. The drums have that nice snap to them that doesn’t bog the songs down in meaningless plod. And the keyboards sometimes don’t sound all that good. Which is great.
The most surprising thing apart from the musicianship is how full the songs sound. Just like the white stripes these girls know how best to make what they have work for them. There is not one song on here longer than four minutes and each one is full of interesting twists.
It is on the last song ‘Slower than Gold’ where the tempo shifts from the, well not frenetic exactly, but energetic levels of those previous that the vocals expose a vulnerability that’s world-weary reflection exemplified. Quite something for a 15 year old.
Indeed the lyrics add to that sense of listening to someone older than their years. It is easier to believe in “when you’re lost alone, you’re lost lost again” than someone honking on about “Bleeding “Love”.