Polar Bear Club – Chasing Hamburg

Half of Polar Bear Club hails from my native town of Syracuse, NY, making this review more a case study than anything.  Chasing Hamburg is their second full-length fresh off 2008’s breakthrough Sometimes Things Just Disappear, and first on Boston powerhouse Bridge Nine.  Side by side with slick illustrations and ten songs a pop, they appear like siblings on my desk.  Looks can be deceiving.

Hamburg is a definite departure, but it’s fun to walk the parallels first.  The first single “Living Saints” is undoubtedly the new “Our Ballads.”  Both are so offensively catchy that they beg you to wear them out.  “Living Saints” lyrical content is more “where did everyone go?” than “fuck the music industry!” compared to its counterpart while still being an upbeat anthem.  Look forward to it live.

The crossroads at track five (“Drifting Thing” vs. “Burned Out in a Jar”) are each throwbacks in their own right, too nostalgic not to notice.  Singer Jimmy Stadt takes center stage on these slower offerings past and present, now reminiscing about being “in love at seventeen.”  Steady palm muted rhythm, emotive vocals, a Woody Allen nod…we’re getting sentimental now.

I’ve heard the term “man rock” thrown around to describe the record.  The package is there.  Chris Browne’s leads still shimmer and snarl between bouts of power chords.  “Boxes” may be the most fluent example, with the rolling chorus catching you by surprise every time.  The cool swagger is just more understated than the past where every word equaled a pile-on.  “The Old Fisher Burial Ground” is like the punk rock version of Santana’s “Smooth.”  Come on, at least for the first 15 seconds?  Really though, it’s climax, characterized by restraint with Stadt crooning between his token outbursts, is one of his finest moments.

“Chasing Hamburg” breathes life into the album’s inspiration while kissing the album goodbye.  For a band chasing the melodic and midpaced,  here’s its most consistent at bat.  A hearty bass tone that could be a double for No Division rules the brief jam, until the simple-yet-satisfying vocal pattern washes ashore.  Stadt relishes over his love affair with being in a touring band, “I watch the shows / from behind the players / a voyeur to the smiling payers” and admits that he has “no grave but the stage.”

As the audience continues to grow exponentially, it’s ironic the boyish charm of the demo days is somewhat lost.  If there’s an explanation to the current sound, it’s that Polar Bear Club is showing its age.  The material that made them remains the most beloved, for now we’ll call Hamburg a thoroughly enjoyable grower.