Slave Ambient - The War On Drugs (CMG Review)

Slave Ambient

The War On Drugs
Secretly Canadian.


CMG Rating: 80%
SCQ Rating: 80%

Kurt Vile leaving the War on Drugs wasn’t only one of the most amicable splits in indie rock history, it was probably among the least noteworthy as well. Besides Vile and War On Drugs frontman Adam Granduciel being longtime friends, their working relationship remains largely oriented around backing each other’s pursuits on the tour circuit. Recently Granduciel has been playing in Vile’s live band, perhaps as a way of returning the favor of Vile’s contributions toward his band’s early successes. If that back-scratching rapport reads as particularly dull amid the more scandalous beefs nowadays, at least it illustrates the two songwriters’ catalogs as separate planets sharing the same inspired atmosphere.

Nothing thrived on that utopian partnership better than Wagonwheel Blues (2008), a full-length that primed Vile for a successful solo career and greased the subsequent tendency for journalists to ponder fictitious futures of the War on Drugs “post-Vile.” Please. As if Granduciel being the brainchild behind that excellent debut wasn’t enough, let Slave Ambient put to rest the notion that Kurt Vile’s ghost is in some way haunting the War on Drugs.

If my fingers felt irresponsible enough to spin such reactionary insights on the spur of the moment, I’d say quite the opposite: that the War on Drugs might someday haunt Kurt Vile. The opening couplet alone, “Best Night” and a re-imagined take on Future Weather track “Brothers,” fills the same all-encompassing production championed on Smoke Ring For My Halo with full-blooded arrangements. Both tracks belie the highway-weary delivery of Granduciel by dealing in saturated melodies and relentless rhythms that would swagger had the band felt like aiming for radio airplay. But it’s the extended jam on the first track, delving into a chasm of echoed acoustics, twinkling ivories, and a mournful horn in the background that marginalizes Vile’s mirror-on-couch introspection, proving the band’s readiness to go abyss-diving without forgetting the pop hooks at the root of all this delicately entwined instrumentation.

Read the rest of the review over at CMG.

Future Weather - The War On Drugs (No Ripcord Review)

Future Weather

The War On Drugs
Secretly Canadian Records.

No Ripcord Rating: 6/10
SCQ Rating: 66%

In a crudely reductive way, anyone’s record collection can break down into two camps: albums we rely on for public consumption (house-parties, get-togethers) and albums we rely on for personal satisfaction. Every host should instinctively play to their crowd’s communal preference, meaning that my obsession for introverted electronica gets roundly ignored every time people pack my fridge with beer. Oh, the trials of amateur deejaying. So when The War On Drugs first stole my heart with Wagonwheel Blues, they managed the task by merging two unique and combative listening experiences into one. Their muse clearly rooted in classic rock but bearing a spacey reverb so rich it nearly swallows the whole procession, The War On Drugs presented a hybrid so seamlessly built, you could just as easily socialize or zone-out to its chameleon-esque company.

As word of Future Weather surfaced, promising a heavier use of keys and ambience following Kurt Vile’s no-surprise departure, I rejoiced in what ostensibly sounded like a nudge toward their cosmic end. 'Comin’ Through', with its steadying Tom Petty-approved bassline, and 'Brothers', leveled in exploratory guitar-jams, both prove that The War On Drugs’ perfect fusion of a template allows some elbow room for extra experimentation, but these are exceptions to the rule. Typically this gauzier finish forces a sacrifice, as how 'The History Of Plastic', which consumes nearly a third of Future Weather’s run-time, lumbers through a studio’s trick-bag with nothing to show for it. What’s worse, its final two-and-a-half minute stretch of disconnected sounds cap off an EP loaded with empty space.

Segues and reprises embody three of these eight tracks but none are built to sustain themselves, or even add any majesty to their parent song. 'Comin’ Around' finds the band loosely jamming around the perimeter of 'Comin’ Through' whereas 'Missiles Reprise' muddles needlessly between the chords of 'Baby Missiles', which itself operates a lean A to B trajectory with familiar organ-work and grinding percussion. Yes, some of these grooves still beckon the open road, but our intended destination is getting a little murky.

The War On Drugs haven’t undergone any major songwriting shifts with Future Weather and yet a quiet divide over direction steals the bite of these songs. It’s almost as if Adam Granduciel and Co. isolated their dual strengths - the riffs and the sound-collages - into separate songs, streamlining their classic-rock tunes while letting vacuous sound-collages fend for themselves. Perhaps Kurt Vile was the engineer capable of fusing these song-pieces or maybe The War On Drugs are simply withholding the best cuts for their upcoming 2011 full-length. Sadly, neither of these excuses warrants buying this vinyl-only 12” at a dollar-per-minute rate, especially when a solid half of Future Weather feels so aimless.

(This review was originally published on No Ripcord...)

#5 Album of 2008: Wagonwheel Blues - The War On Drugs

Wagonwheel Blues

The War On Drugs
Secretly Canadian Records.


No record fell as unexpectedly into my lap as Wagonwheel Blues; I’d never heard of or read about them until one late July day at Soundscapes where I stood with store-loaned headphones, staring bewilderedly through the album’s tracklist. While I’m unsure how my radar missed this new Secretly Canadian signing, I’m positive their debut belongs among the best this year had to offer. Sometimes serene, often times rocky, Wagonwheel Blues is a folk album swallowed by deafening drones – one that gets stronger with each listen.

Wagonwheel Blues - The War On Drugs

Wagonwheel Blues

The War on Drugs
Secretly Canadian Records.

SCQ Rating: 84%

Breaking in a fanbase for a band is the equivalent of finding a female demographic if you've just opened a club downtown. Riches, notoriety and all other successes will come along once you've attained it, but for those who don't: back to the employment pages. Perhaps the greatest gamble The War On Drugs deals in on is their name, one that has certainly impeded, even in the least, their indie breakthrough. Example A is myself, who thankfully eyed their song titles before the band name. Had I been less curious or more attentive, I have faith that I would've missed out on Wagonwheel Blues entirely. Luckily, The War On Drugs seem to subconsciously counter any distasteful first impression with lead track 'Arms Like Boulders', an attention-grabber of the first order that opens with electric guitars and percussion tripping over itself, then ironed out by a wailing harmonica. The first time you hear Adam Granduciel spouting phrases between harmonica-bursts, all that'll register is Bob Dylan. That's OK - don't fight it; the Philadelphia five-piece apparently bonded over the father of folk's work, and by the time 'Taking the Farm', a chugging slice of Springsteen Americana, digs in, those Dylan-isms will feel assuredly unforced and at home here. Yes, this is a do-or-die first listen; the kind of record that opens so promisingly, that when previewing each following song, you're terrified it's about to run out of gas. This review is here to assure you that it won't.

If I was into genre labels as vigorously as professional critics tend to be, I'd make a solid case for Wagonwheel Blues to be crowned a cornerstone of shoegaze-folk. At first listen, it sounds like an old folk album put through the washer, with any thin acoustics covered in layers of ambient feedback. Such startling production techniques are both part of the record's initial novelty and its subsequent brilliance; these digital waves soothe us on 'There Is No Urgency' or the ruminating 'Reverse the Charges' but spike suddenly in the ringing rock-out of 'Show Me The Coast'. Because these shimmering waves (there's really no other word for them) give depth to all nine songs, it also provides Wagonwheel Blues with a cohesive cinematic quality; a blurred genre border where rock purists can shake hands with drone or prog enthusiasts. This widescreen treatment is fortified by two instrumentals - one of which, 'Coast Reprise', actually reprises a song that appears later in the album - that encapsulate the War On Drugs' love of warm keyboards and distorted noise.

Although this record begs the mention of Dylan, Springsteen, or even Wilco, it deserves its own spotlight; one untouched by paint-by-number comparisons. Wagonwheel Blues is more than folk or rock; it's a hybrid too stunningly honest in its skin, and too convincing to be a flavour of the month. This is the soundtrack to weekday afternoons of watching summer storms march over the land you call home, or tackling a highway without purpose or direction. This record is the soundtrack of witnessing something bigger than you can fully understand, and finding the beauty in it. Remind me to never judge a band by its name again...