Feral Children's Brand New Blood

Track List:
1. "Kid Origami" - 4:14
2. "Castrato" - 4:27
3. "Group Home" - 5:01
4. "Rivers of Forever" - 4:17
5. "On a Frozen Beach" - 4:04
6. "Conveyor" - 4:49
7. "Universe Design" - 3:53
8. "Inside the Night" - 3:35
9. "Woodland Mutts" - 3:00
10. "Enchanted Parkway" - 2:48

As the new millennium presses on (are we really into double digits already?) it’s only getting harder and harder to make a splash on the indie music scene. It almost seems like you have to be a brilliantly reclusive musicologist like Andrew Bird or Beirut or just complete weirdoes like Animal Collective to really make a name for yourself. Then again, you can always just tack on some extra musicians like Arcade Fire, Broken Social Scene or Polyphonic Spree. The latter solution might just be what the Feral Children need. Their debut was at its best at the apex of the spittle spewing mosh ready cock-rock, so why not just take a page out of Andrew W.K.’s playbook and add some more guitar? I mean, they’ve already got two drummers, if you’re gonna do something, do it right. It worked for fellow pacific rockers Built to spill – I’m not expecting that level of musicianship, just a little more throttle. Let’s be honest, we’re not coming back for the moving lyrics or melodies, and that’s not a strike against them. “Spy/Glass House,” the debut’s opener, flirts with full blown metal but doesn’t quite get there, and that’s exactly where the Feral Children should live. But, I guess that level of domestication would go against their very nature.

It’s no wonder these guys draw comparisons to groups like Built to Spill and Modest Mouse, reproducing that post-grunge west coast sound was essentially their mission statement. I’m not asking for them to pick a genre, I just want them to keep up the intensity. These guys are the musical equivalent to the drunkest guy at a party; they’re a lot of fun in small doses, but hang around too long and the act starts to wear on you. Cotton and Kessler can go scream for scream with Isaac Brock, Stephen Malkmus – anybody really. But the slower, dronier tracks are the equivalent of the kicked-keg sobering lamentations that really aren’t that poignant or interesting. These guys just don’t have the vocal chops or the instrumental prowess to go from Lonesome Crowded West to The Moon and Antarctica. Well, it’s been a few years since the debut Second to the Last Frontier (or Good News for People Who Love Bad Imitations), so let’s hope they’ve found their way out of the absolutely towering shadows of their northwestern predecessors.

Brand New Blood starts off with the striking “Kid Origami” which really challenges my preconceptions about these guys. There’s a definitive sense of maturity lyrically and musically, but without sacrificing their energy (re: background hell yeahs). For the first time, I actually find myself singing along to the chorus with no sense of irony. The passion is still ostensibly present, but they finally manage to pull off restraint without it feeling awkward. “Castrato” follows suit with its lush songscape and so many “woos” you might just think you’ve drifted into a TV on the Radio record. But soon enough, old feelings reemerge and “Group Home” starts to get a little exhausting. From there the album devolves into a meandering whine fest that reaffirms my conviction that the Feral Children really ought to stay away from the slackened tempo. I didn’t decide to call them Feral, that was their call. If I’d had my druthers, I’d have voted Arrogant Rats and they would have been the greatest Modest Mouse cover band ever (sorry Sun Kil Moon).

The brightest spots on this album after the first two tracks are “Conveyors,” which is the best effort for their new style, and “Enchanted Parkway,” which feel the most like a Frontier throwback. Three years ago, it seemed like the Children were setting out to reinvigorate a scene heading in the far less ass-kicking/face-punching direction of The Shins, Fleet Foxes, The Dodos, etc. (which is not to say these bands don’t kick ass). Now it seems more like the so-called Feral ones are peering through the windows of the bands they swore they’d never be.