San Francisco – It’s hard to find an indie rock band completely free of irony in the 21st century. Rock artists seem to have a cynical chip on their shoulders these days, unable to enjoy the simple pleasures of loud guitars and pounding drums without a detached sense of humor coating it all. Parquet Courts, Mac DeMarco, Courtney Barnett – yes, they’re great, but they’re not nearly as fun as the blissfully sincere Palma Violets.
The South London-based four-piece doesn’t seem to mind if their unabashed love for hook-filled rock ‘n’ roll makes them look somehow less cool, picking up right where they left off on their joyful, raucous 2013 debut, 180. Fans of that slightly sloppy but wholly entertaining album won’t be disappointed by the group’s sophomore release, Danger in the Club, out this week via Rough Trade Records. Sure, the drum sound is a bit cleaner, the clanging guitars more polished and the lyrics enunciated a bit more clearly, but the overall tone is still righteously loose and carefree.
After the 23-second tease of “Sweet Violets,” the band kicks into high gear on the ripping old-school boogie rocker “Hollywood (I Got It).” It’s a song that, like the Ramones, makes you wonder if this is the catchiest punk act you’ve ever heard or the grungiest pop band. Plenty of toe-tapping garage rock follows: the rolling toms and fist-pumping chorus of “Secrets of America”; the slinky groove and doo-wop vibe of “Walking Home”; and the mix of menace and excitement on the title track will keep you half-dancing, half-moshing throughout.
Lengthy and more contemplative tracks like “Matador” and “Peter and the Gun” are compelling as well, but they do seem a bit out of place on an album otherwise packed with upbeat, rousing party-crashers. The best of the slow jams is the mostly acoustic, bittersweet “The Jacket Song,” a tune that wouldn’t feel out of place at the tail end of a Libertines LP when they would try to sneak a ballad in between blasts of snotty punk rock. These mellowed-out tunes do successfully break up the songs played at full-speed-ahead tempo though, effectively eliminating a potential monotony resulting from energy overload.
It is, however, quite difficult to get sick of pub-punk scorchers like the Clash-inspired (or maybe 101ers-inspired) “Girl, You Couldn’t Do Much Better (On the Beach).” It’s even more difficult getting the drunken singalong refrain of, “I would rather die / than be in love” from “Coming Over to My Place” out of your head, a song that conjures up images of young men swaying in unison to the beat in a dank dive bar, hoisting Guinness in the air as they stave off loneliness for another night, achieving sloshed solidarity through the oddly empowering chant. As the closing anthem “English Tongue” fades to silence you’ll inevitably feel a little exhausted, a little sad that it’s all over and itching to push repeat to experience it all over again.
Palma Violets is currently playing dates in the U.K. and starting a North American tour later this spring. Check here for the full schedule.
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Publishers Note: Occasionally even amazing, world-class, publishers (that would be me) screw up and assign the same review to two writers. Both reviews are so well done that both deserve to see the light of day. So, we are now publishing two reviews of the same album simultaneously. Enjoy.
Nick Schneider
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