San Francisco – After listening to the self-titled debut album of Glasgow ‘s Honeyblood on a loop for a couple of hours, one word rings true repeatedly: honesty.
Honeyblood is a much grittier album than those of its Scottish contemporaries, relying on Dum Dum Girls-esque vocals and a driving, raw guitar. Each track masks relatable, discernable mantras (‘Why won’t you just grow up?’, ‘I will hate you forever’) with abrasive musical stylings. Coupled with a forcibly decadent lyrical style that draws the listener into a realm where plain truth reigns supreme, the album manages at the same time to create welcome distance via vintage 90’s-era angst.
During the 1990s, record companies still held the most power, yet artists managed to put their most prolific feet forward. No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom was the first CD I ever bought, and while Interscope Records saw huge success from that album, it was also one of the first to display dissonance between commercialism and creativity. For some reason, Honeyblood reminds me a lot of Tragic Kingdom. Stylistically, the albums differ quite a bit (90s American pop/ska/rock vs. 2010s Scottish lo-fi, unpolished rock), yet there is a quality that permeates the two albums making them incredibly similar: a palpable sense of dignified urgency. While Tragic Kingdom found its footing as a seminal opus, Honeyblood’s debut speaks to neo-chic slackers, finding footing amongst a new age of angst-ridden listeners.
The album opens with the electric “Fall Forever,” which brings to mind classic Walkmen-style guitar, and surprises the listener with nectarine female vocals, cooing ‘I never knew eyes were so blue.’ The second track, “Super Rat,” toys with metaphors comparing a lover to vermin (‘you are the smartest rat in the sewer/you know all the nooks and the cracks to allure’), before attributing said characteristics to an otherwise ugly persona (‘see what it’s like on the other side/I will hate you forever’). The metaphor is fragile, yet thoroughly applicable to the subject (‘you really disgust me’), offering a brusque yet altogether accessible comparison with a degree of distrust and disappointment.
Such honestly disdainful material continues with “(I’d Rather Be) Anywhere But Here” and “Bud.” The latter explores disdain from a more personal perspective, as the singer boasts she will ‘nip it in the bud,’ ultimately saving herself the disappointment of love lost by cutting off herself.
Lead single “Killer Bangs” follows: a romping, semi-celebratory anthem highlighting how severing ties with someone bad for you is worth the uncertainty of having no one (‘I don’t want to have to go on without you/When I go will there be anything to go home to?’). The brief tempo change in the middle of the single serves to tease out an artful bridge, while releasing tension before slamming back into the crazed, frustrated tone of the chorus once more.
Regret and loneliness are the pertinent force in “Choker,” mixing with a healthy dose of distrust (‘I don’t think he would hurt me/I know he would/It’s in his blood’) to create a purposely confused, slapdash portrait of a masochist. The pre-chorus reiterates ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,’ (a common mindset in the 1990s). Yet- there is an element of disbelief that resonates in the vocals which gives away Honeyblood’s bluff of being satisfied with being hurt.
With “No Spare Key,” Honeyblood rips through the separation felt by anyone plagued by clinical anxiety, bluntly posing the Lexapro-defying question ‘Do you ever feel like your brain might be conspiring against you?’ While “Joey” and “Fortune Cookie” generally share a patronizing tone at the expense of the targeted subject, the last two songs on the album, “All Dragged Up” and “Braidburn Valley” really bring the album full-circle and aim for the jugular. With “All Dragged Up,” Honeyblood is fed up with excuses and the proverbial run-around: ‘Better to let it be/Than hang on desperately/Why won’t you grow up?’ This echoes back to Tragic Kingdom, an album that spends half of its time begging for deserved acceptance before turning into an arsenal of frustration against those whose approval it seeks. I even hear glimmers of Gwen Stefani’s incomparable vocal shudders in this track, making it all the more powerful.
The album closes with the downtrodden “Braidburn Valley,” which plays out like two songs swirled into one. The first half sounds like a beautifully penned Zooey Deschanel/She & Him ballad, referencing blackbirds and crows who harangue a sweet-hearted girl being plagued by omens. Then, the heavy guitars rush in and drown the sweet sounds with rough, welcome dissonance (‘Another fucking brute, this one looks just like a rose’). As the first part of the song tapers off like a foggy sunset, another part sweeps in as the band waxes poetic about shooting stars and portraits of love, shedding coats of palpable anger in the midst of nostalgia.
It just goes to show that underneath all the anger we may harbor on the surface, all we want as people is to be recognized for our goodness. Honeyblood’s debut is a fierce, unforgiving object of refined rage channeled through melodic art. Much like Tragic Kingdom – as well as many albums of the 1990s –Honeyblood puts up a tough front (quite effectively, I might add), but in the end, it’s all about the sadness rather than the anger.
At the conclusion of Honeyblood’s debut LP, we see them as they really are: vulnerable, injured, and human. This honest display of humanity is seen throughout the album, tinged with elements of empowerment, disdain, and resilience; at the end of the day, however, it’s all about being understood. And I think we can all relate to that.
Honeyblood’s Honeyblood is available for purchase and download July 15 via FatCat Records.
Corey Bell
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