Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – S/T

Oh industry hype. Oh sweet, sweet industry hype. How I love thee. How you take bands and put them on a pedestal so that this reviewer’s overeducated, middle-class mind can more easily shred the band for failing to achieve an impossibly high standard. How I love thee. And oh how Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s self-titled debut just screams industry hype. From the staunch, black and white band poses to the live shots of a mysterious band bathed in a glowing red sea of dry ice. Word has it, the major label bidding war over these wannabe English Californians (well, OK, apparently the drummer is really English) was rather intense. And as much as I’d like to condemn this sort of obvious posturing and that sort of industry action, not even my cynicism can overlook this gem of a debut from this wonderful trio.
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club joins an elite group of young bands (think Dismemberment Plan and Modest Mouse, among others) who pay respective tribute to their founding fathers and still manage to be original and compelling. BRMC draw from all the right places: Joy Division, My Bloody Valentine, and perhaps little pieces of the Cure and Fugazi. At their best, BRMC mix the bass-heavy sounds of early post-punkers like Joy Division and the ambient guitar wash of My Bloody Valentine. On their best songs, this dichotomy shines brilliantly. The outstanding low-end funk of “White Palms” is offset by unharnessed feedback and foggy chords. “Awake” starts with reverberated strumming and gives way to a burning chorus so dense and thick you almost lost the wonderful melody it throws at you.
BRMC also mix things up enough to keep you interested. The self-conscious “Whatever Happened To My Rock ‘n’ Roll (punk song)” blisters and bleeds with so much guilty, buzzsaw, punk energy that it feels like an itch you just can’t stop scratching. “Spread Your Love” is another anomaly, this time in the form of a bluesy bass romp that grooves and stomps and plays like a dog in a flower garden. My favorites, however, are the shameless shoegazer-inspired songs filled with ringing chords and distorted mess. “Rifles” opens ominously with the line “I see the rifles coming over the hill” before churning into another killer chorus that still leaves me gasping for more. “Head Up High” takes a slower pace but musters just enough chaos to still sound vital. The last song, “Salvation,” sounds like just that. Distant, spacey vocals ask “Do you feel alive?” over acoustic, percussive, ringing instruments, as your mind follows the song into the sky.
What you’re left with is one astounding bundle of hype that actually panned out. Clocking in at just under an hour, BRMC have put together a massive, indulgent, incredible debut album, one that both showcases their strengths and flirts with new territory. Don’t be fooled by that Virgin Records tag attached to this album. This is music is as fun, alive, and vital as just about anything else out there. You’d be a fool not to believe the hype.