REVIEW: Bad Books By Bad Books

Bad Books are self-described as an ‘indie super-group’, an idea which seems to be trending right now with conglomerates such as the notable Monsters of Folk doing the rounds of the American musical wilderness. It would therefore be easy to be sceptical of Bad Books’ chief songwriters, Kevin Devine and Andy Hull’s aspirations; but any fears are unwarranted – their self-titled debut is a keeper.

The record’s opener, 'How It All Ends', immediately displays the depth of experience, and quite frankly, song writing genius of the pair, with the song falling from discordant sombreness to major key jubilance (and back again), set amidst the lyrical heart-break channelled through Devine’s fragile voice (“now, I can see/in the end we unfortunately have to end either way”). The connection between the song’s final line and abrupt ending is pure enlightenment.

Though the group seems to box itself into the ‘forest-folk’ corner through its promotional image (e.g. the record’s cover art), the album itself doesn’t seem to mind breaking out and into different genres. The songs flow easily from Ryan Adams-esque balladeering, to 90s pop-rock, and even 80s-era post-hardcore; and though this may seem like a disparate set of influences, the juxtaposition makes sense, and is all the more interesting for it.

Both Devine’s song writing and softly-cracked voice are comparable to the bright-eyed Conor Oberst (one of the ringleaders of Monsters of Folk, funnily enough), and these characteristics are revealed through the record’s more stripped-backed tracks, featuring that ever-chilling pairing-up of guitar and voice. The haunting 'You’re a Mirror I Can’t Avoid' speaks of the protagonist’s care for the girl he loves (“say what you mean/explain yourself to me/I’ll try not to judge you any more than you would”), as he attempts to protect here from the “poison frogs” of her past, even though he “knew (she’d) eventually disappear”. Final track, 'Texas' follows a similar approach, with its Robert-Johnson-Love-In-Vain inspired despondence (“my love has gone away/packed her bags and then boarded that plane”), and the much required cathartic healing during the bittersweet aftermath of such a horrific event.

The album’s genre-hopping continues with the howling 'Don’t Move'; its sound structure is reminiscent of first-wave emo ala Sunny Day Real Estate and The Get Up Kids, and the heart-rending subject matter is typical of the movement (“don’t move/I only think the truth unless its you/don’t move/I tried to be the best but there’s no proof”).
The Weezer-like 'You Wouldn’t Have to Ask' is the easy potential pop-hit of the record, with its massive sing-along chorus. In saying that, I have no idea what the song is about, and this seems to be one of the album’s drawbacks. Devine is an at-times overly-cryptic songwriter; with a poet’s knowledge of word placement he is a lyrical genius, but this tends to be a bit frustrating. It doesn’t hurt to tell it straight sometimes.

Despite the hard-to-understand literary codices written into the songs, they are all very listenable, and their perplexing nature makes you dig a bit deeper than one normally expects – that doesn’t hurt either. Bad Books have produced a wonderful set of songs, and to be honest, I haven’t really even begun to understand what they are all about. This means I’m going to have to give it a few more spins – I’m going to both enjoy (and continue to be confused) by the process.

Written by Theo Sangster.