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Cymbals Eat Guitars - Pretty Years (Album Review)

Wednesday, 21 September 2016 Written by Huw Baines

Photo: Shervin Lainez

Almost five minutes into Jackson, the first song on Cymbals Eat Guitars’ 2014 LP ‘LOSE’, Joseph D’Agostino tumbles into a guitar break. At this point on previous records, the band might have spiralled away and left any sort of structure behind altogether. But here, they refuse to let go of a captivating hook. The solo roars into life, wrenching more emotional weight from a song already heavy on it, before seamlessly slipping back into the chorus. It’s immensely satisfying. Like the giddy, harmonica-driven punk of Xr, the song became emblematic of a change in focus for a band that had previously only looked inward. It gave the crowd what they wanted. Two years later, they are inviting us to join in more than ever before.

‘Pretty Years’ is the sort of rock record that aims for the heart and ricochets between its chambers, hitting all-encompassing love, wistful remembrances, deep sorrow and carefree abandon along the way. It’s the sort of rock record that might be sung back at the band by people with smiles on their faces and tears streaming down their cheeks. Its influences are plain - Bruce Springsteen, Talking Heads and Hüsker Dü, among others - but swept up by the same slightly askew energy and approach to composition that has characterised Cymbals Eat Guitars’ output to this point.

Recorded by a settled line up with producer John Congleton - who brings the same Technicolor retro-futurism to the table here that he did on St. Vincent’s recent self-titled LP - ‘Pretty Years’ freewheels between points of view, taking in reflective, nostalgic passages among others that speak of a bruised romantic’s hope for the future.

D’Agostino’s narration veers from detail-obsessed, in the manner of a ‘Greetings From Asbury Park’-era Boss, to stark declarations of love that previously wouldn’t have felt at home in Cymbals Eat Guitars’ orbit.

Sometimes, as on the quite lovely Have A Heart, the two meet at a crossroads to talk things over. “I have a heart I want to put to use,” D’Agostino sings. “Empathy, it never came so naturally 'til I met you.” The kicker, though, arrives with the song’s last line: “Can't believe the shit that we were promised really might exist.”

Having been hauled from a deep-rooted malaise by the tragicomic events of 4th of July, Philadelphia (SANDY), a swaggering powerhouse that carries the historic weight of its title without breaking stride, D’Agostino’s new outlook is picked up by the record’s bloodstream, aided and abetted by bassist Matthew Whipple and keyboard player Brian Hamilton, who between them share writing credits on a hefty chunk of its 10 songs.

From day one, Cymbals Eat Guitars were a band who tried things. That used to mean an unfettered approach to prog-indie guitars, but now it’s become something all the more daring. They’re now a band that writes pop songs, and ‘Pretty Years’ has a way with reinterpreting the classics that allows D’Agostino’s hard-earned sentimentality to bubble up among surroundings that are familiar but still exciting.

The addictive sax-strut of Wish sounds like Paul Westerberg fronting the Rolling Stones for Miss You, while Close glides on falsetto backing vocals. Dancing Days, around which the record pivots, provides a coup de grâce to any lingering doubts about the band's comfort in their new skin, parlaying the universal late-20s fear of a youth evaporated into a triumphant, velvet-jacketed ballad. “Goodbye to my dancing days,” D’Agostino sings. “Goodbye to the friends who fell away. Goodbye to my pretty years.”

Arriving relatively quickly after the gradual reinvention of ‘LOSE’, ‘Pretty Years’ marks the next phase for Cymbals Eat Guitars in more ways than one. It thumbs the reset button lyrically, while exploring classic rock tropes through cracked rose-tinted glasses. It has an intoxicating air of romance to it, one made all the more potent by the knowledge that it’s the work of a black heart beating itself clean.

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