Lemuria's The Distance Is So Big

"Hey, so I have dranketh a beer and now I'm wheeeeeeeee making a blog post because I've been stressed and unable to be as creative as I'd prefer on a regular, sober basis. So hey, how about a half-assed shOOpety shot at the past few week's Lemuria consumption? As you are incapable of responding because you are not a spectral being inside my computer or the part of my consciousness telling me to go to bed instead, I think I'll just do this shit."

But then, after fumbling around endlessly in an attempt to marry words with meaning, I actually did just go to bed.

Here's the sober continuation:

 

2013 was a pretty fantastic year for pop-punk and everything falling vaguely beneath or adjacent to that banner, with bands like RVIVR, French Exit, Worriers, Swearin', Direct Hit!, Wringer, and The World Is A Beautiful fuck it releasing some of the best dynamics heavy, emotionally obvious jams I still love despite no longer being 16. And yeah, you can throw Lemuria's The Distance Is So Big to the top of that heap, while you're at it.

Looking back, it's kind of strange that I've pulled out the keyboard for Lemuria as often as I have. Beyond my love for their half of the split LP with Kind Of Like Spitting, I've always just sidled along the positive face of the fence with them. Even overlooking the white-hot rancidity wafting from scattered tracks like "The Origamists", "State Lines", and "Different Girls", there've always been a few too many moments of hookless 90's alt rock monotony to get me truly excited. When Pebble dropped in 2011, the cold, yucky J. Robbins production and the "turn-for-the-mature" diminution of the band's previous energy levels pretty much un-sold me entirely, leading to a full embrace of the shrug of apathy I'd been harboring for years.

When the "Brilliant Dancer" single streamed somewhere around the 2nd quarter of last year, I was pushed to hear it more out of compulsion and routine than any real, unshaken faith in the trio. Some part of me figured I'd do the dutiful thing and keep following the band's exploits, and hey, maybe I'd get to write some smarmy slag piece on them if I was feeling unlikeable or whatever. Skip forward a few days and I've pretty much drilled the song deep enough into my psyche to hear it soundtracking my PTSD flashbacks. The fact that the production was the best it's ever been struck the first blow (ala ditching the moody reverb-cave bullshit of Pebble), but it's the fact that the same can be said of the songwriting that really hooked me. Skip ahead another week or so and - thank fuck - the same can be said of the album's entirety.

Having officially hit the year mark since it's release, I feel pretty safe in stating that this has now officially dethroned my previous favorite Lemuria platter, which is no mean feat. The Distance Is So Big is, track by track, an incredibly fresh, color-saturated brand of vaguely punk-ish pop-rock esoterica, shedding a lot of the previous years' reliance on plodding, simplistic alt-rock riffage, but never resorting to gimmickry or sloppy genre dabbling in it's stead. I'm actually tempted here to go down the dark and loathsome road of "track-by-track descriptions", but I'll refrain for everyone's sake and just point you to this stream here. What I will say is this: prior to pulling out the keys and getting all hyperbolic and untrustworthy, I gave this album three consecutive spins through the ol' critical reviewer's lens, and was actually really surprised that it passed on a "technical" level as well. The balance of super TURNT UP pop ("Public Opinion Bath", "Dream Eater", "Chihuly"), dark, broody angst ("Survivor's Guilt", "Bluffing Statistics", "Ruby"), and that classic slice down the center ("Paint The Youth", "Scienceless", "Congratulations Sex") is nearly flawless, and had me pulling the smarmy, impressed asshole nod the entire time.

The Distance... isn't so much an overhaul as a complete refinement of the band's greatest strengths and most unique attributes. The melodies and moods are insanely well developed and varied, the percussion is more complex and texturing than it's ever been, and the songwriting is fucking great throughout. Even the cutesiness one could level a bit of derision at doesn't waft over you like someone puked in the heating vent this time, and trust me, I don't have the highest tolerance for any kind of twee-ness. I think I'm pretty much out of ecstatic bullshit to gush, so let's close with my favorite song on the album, "Paint The Youth":

You can pick this up on LP and CD on Bridge Nine's page, of all labels, for a reasonable 10-13 bucks. Also, browsing their page is pretty bizarre. When did their lineup become such a weird fucking mess of unrelated styles? Weren't they a kinda bro-y hardcore label since forever?

Also also, should I feel bad about liking some of the Candy Hearts stuff on their page? 'Cause I think I should.

Lemuria

I've actually covered Lemuria already a while back on my old blog, but since it's a particularly stunning example of spreading an eyedropper's worth of content over a mile radius, I'm back for another round. Lemuria's a 3-piece from the 2nd worst place in New Yawk, and have been pumping out a hit-or-miss indie/pop-punk hybrid for the past 8 years. Not that anyone has it in them to give a shit, but contrary to what I wrote last time, I actually first heard Lemuria's wares way back in 2006, when my friend Anna put the track "Trivial Greek Mythology" on a mixtape for me. I ended up downloading the EP, hating it, and forgetting they ever existed. To be fair, I was also in the early stages of transition from an all death metal/grindcore/powerviolence diet. To be fair, also, that EP is pretty disgustingly cutesy. Somewhat embarrassingly, it wasn't until late 2008 that I garnered any exuberance for bands that didn't specialize in billions of BPM, penning cold post-punk-funk nonsense, or dull-as-dick grunge/pigfuck bullshit. Around that point, I rediscovered Lemuria through their First Collection compilation, and they finally made sense to me. Sure, through months of flogging their goods I acquired a permanent vomit-trigger mechanism to "The Origiamists", but the rest struck me as decent-to-top notch, with emphasis on the first seven tracks.

I suppose that's strike 2 for my original coverage, as there was no legitimate reason that I didn't provide more props to "Hours" through to "Sophomore", the tracks making up the split with Kind Of Like Spitting. The 12", entitled Your Living Room's All Over Me, is easily the most consistent and greatest run of songs the band ever recorded, and completed their transition from the somewhat stomach churning twee-ness of their demo and self-titled to a more polished-yet-idiosyncratic sound. All the odd time signatures and non-standard song structures hinted at in their earlier catalog become the cornerstone here, layered with a thick glaze of left-field pop sensibility that give the band an incredibly mature and relaxed sound. Sheena's vocals are as soaring and crystal clear as they've ever been, but where Alex Kerns used to employ a warbly, gratingly tuneless yell is now a deep, Calvin Johnson-esque faux-baritone that compliments the lead vocals (and the music, for that matter) far better. I'm not wan to bore people to gruesome suicide with track by track descriptions (I prefer monotonous/pointless personal accounts), but fortunately there's not much temptation here, as every track is equally awesome. That said, "Bristles And Whiskers" is easily the highlight for me, and is a perfect blend of the most oblique and dark song structuring the band's utilized to date with enough warmth and poppiness to gel it together. Thematically, it's pretty hard to beat, as well:

He doesn't price his paintings before the canvas dries
His life is living colors like the ones in the sky
On the fourth of July, on the fourth of July
You can keep the closet door cracked
Look outside and dodge accusing eyes
And be yourself for the first time
Bristles and whiskers and a broad jawline is the prize
Enjoy it now because at sunrise
Your friends and family think you're a pervert contaminating their lives
He hides his dirty movies
He kisses his wife
She has a suspicion of his filthy desire
They don't make love, they fuck
They don't make love, they fuck
And he assumes it's enough
They both pretend to come
With a common image of another man man filling them with love
He lives his life
Shaving the whiskers that prickle his wife
She's sitting in a pew praying to a father:
He better purge that closet before the canvas dries

Unfortunately, I've never really found the same kind of quality anywhere else in their catalog. Get Better is a fairly decent extension of the material present here, but as with it's recent followup, Pebble, it's lacking in consistency and often sees the band dragging out songs way past the point they would've cut off in the past. I suppose it's been a while since I've listened to either of those discs, though, (a reappraisal might be in order pretty soon) so pick them up for yourself to figure it out. One last note: despite what impression you might have from my commentary on their earlier releases "cutesiness", they're still well worth your time, especially if you can stand the K Records stable and the less shock-tactic based riot grrrl bands.

Okay, another final note: definitely pick up the First Collection, but if you're solely interested in the split I just described, just send me a message and I'll shoot you an upload.

Alright, dammit, a third final note: I've never heard the Kind Of Like Spitting half of the split. It's probably pretty okay. I dunno.