Pinback - Autumn of the Seraphs

One of the reasons I love music as a form of expression is that there are almost endless avenues to follow in that expression. A plethora of instruments, styles, genres, and dynamics allows for ideas to blossom in limitless directions, and by utilizing these well, a great artist can completely capture any essence, emotion, or experience. Yet while every artist strives to do so and do so well, so many options can also become so many limits. Adhering to boundaries and standards can certainly make for focused art or a driven music scene, but some acts just need more room to breathe and bloom. Pinback is one such artist, and as their record Autumn of the Seraphs proves, when the right minds are given the musical room to work, what they produce is pure magic.

Coupling an amazing pop sensibility with intricate technical skill, Autumn of the Seraphs provides us with eleven delightfully diverse tunes in which even the most close-minded of listeners can find something to appreciate. Between the slow and drooping feel of “How We Breathe,” the hectic picking of “Blue Harvest,” or the aggressively dark “Off by 50,” Pinback touches upon a wide range of feeling and fury, all tied together with their incredible sense of melody. Rob Crow’s distinctly gentle vocal style disperses pop elements throughout each tune, his singing expertly synthesizing with the deft instrumentation. Even the mix, which was shaped to mimic the band’s hard-hitting live sound, still retains a measure of beauty and grace, implying vigor without overloading the listener’s speakers.

Pinback really runs the gamut of both energy and timbre on Autumn of the Seraphs, carefully selecting each song’s instrumental palate to complement the intensity of the composition. Album-opener “From Nothing to Nowhere” relies heavily on driving guitar and live drums, while the slower, more somber “Bouquet” is loaded with bleepy-bloopy synths. Pinback’s specialty is melody, and in their standard approach, Rob Crow’s sparse guitar work coalesces with Zach Smith’s unique bass style into an aurora of color and feeling. Still, the band does not shy away from exploring other territories, employing electronic beats in “How We Breathe” and relying heavily on keyboards in “Good to Sea” and “Torch.”  

While virtually every aspect of Pinback’s style is exciting, for obvious reasons, nothing gets my blood up more than Zach Smith’s incredible basswork. Autumn of the Seraphs is loaded with tunes that spotlight his unique, rule-breaking style of playing, but no song exemplifies his versatility as a bassist better than “Barnes.” The drums set up a powerful groove from the get-go, and Zach sticks his low notes to the percussion, accenting the rhythm section and slamming his strings on the downbeats. That punchy groove in “Barnes” is what is most important, and although there is a ton of room in the verses, Zach keeps it simple, keeps it low, letting the drums and Rob’s smattered guitar shine. It is only towards the end of the song [2:22] that he finally crawls up into the high register, his fingers winding chords and melody simultaneously into a flourish of beauty. While other pieces on Autumn might better flaunt Zach’s crazy technical skills, “Barnes” exhibits a dedicated restraint that allows his little excursions to shine even further.  

No matter what tune catches your fancy, there is no doubt that Autumn of the Seraphs was crafted by two expert musicians, and this extends to the lyrics. Both Rob Crow and Zach Smith find ways to shape their words into meticulous and multifaceted pieces. “Subbing for Eden” contains some beautifully cryptic images such as “petals falling from the engine” and “cracking velvet nerves.” Similarly, “Good to Sea” opens with a strong sequence that imparts an experience you can hear, see, feel, even smell: “They’re moving earth outside / The ground is shaking like no beat / A dense terrible sound / At once both teeming and asleep.”

Pinback has a habit of being heavily metaphorical in their lyrics, almost to the point of being vague. There is also certainly a level of aloofness to their approach, evidenced by the fact that the album title is just a play on words of a Mayhem song. Still, their writing never fails to match and deliver the emotional experience of their songs. Indeed, the often interwoven counterpoint vocal parts shared between Rob and Zach add further layers of harmony and sentiment, turning their lyrics into moving, interacting sensory pieces. 

This duo can certainly write like a couple of kids sometimes (take the opening line from “Blue Harvest:” “Goody for me!”), but when they do take it seriously, Pinback can combine story and sound into a masterpiece of humanity. Autumn of the Seraph’s best example of this is the tune “Walters,” which shares the extraordinary tale of Lawn Chair Larry, a man who took flight using weather balloons tied to a lawn chair. The song opens into a dreamy strings piece led by Zach’s bass, as Rob croons his respect for Larry’s boldness: “Anyone else would not deserve your life.”

The song then picks up into a slow build of tension and release, the strings moving faster as Rob describes his journey into the sky: “Larry climbs into his lawn chair / waves a goodbye / Unties from the post / Races towards the sky.” The wonder inherent in Rob’s voice soon takes on a measure of danger, before the song slowly slinks towards its sad culmination, a whispered “went out on a hike and never came back again”—Rob’s soft-handed summary of the protagonist’s eventual suicide. Pinback wend this fascinating tale of this real-life adventurer, encapsulating his story’s highs and lows in both sound and sentiment.

All in all, Autumn of the Seraphs is a triumph in its depth, dexterity, and drive. Pinback fashion eleven brilliant pieces of music on this record, using honed technical musicianship and intelligent writing to completely dominate their craft, giving every kind of listener something to love. Truly, I can think of few acts that have such a handle on all things music as Pinback does. Autumn of the Seraphs reinforces how limitless human expression can be through the medium of music, and each listen gives me yet another reason to keep hacking away at my craft, if only because I love the sound of it. 

Tunes to Check Out:

1) Barnes

2) Torch

3) Good to Sea

Song Spotlight: "May 16" by Lagwagon

As I've been saying across the entire existence of this blog, I could go on and on about how the soundtracks to the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater series seriously informed my musical tastes. They were my first exposure to alternative music, to punk and ska and metal, genres which I would hasten to explore more thoroughly as I grew older. And while I’m sure I could write at length about every single tune from those games (and probably will someday), there are few I’ve connected with as fully as Lagwagon’s “May 16,” a ripping punk rock tune with a very emotional backbone, and one that holds a very important place in my heart.

Winding up with a few hectic guitar chords in the intro, “May 16” quickly reaches full velocity, a mess of power chords and rumbling bass taking off at high speed. Dave Ruan smashes complicated fills in between slash beats while Joey Cape croons his mournful vocal. The structure of the song avoids standard verse/chorus form, instead following a long and complex chord progression that runs head-on at a blistering tempo throughout the piece. The band also peppers small sections of 12/8 time in between the onslaught of 4/4, a theme they more deeply explore in a melodic outro stilted with syncopation and a soulful yet simple guitar solo.

Lagwagon creates a wonderfully chaotic masterpiece in their composition, but the vocals are what drive the emotion home. There is a subtle presence to Joey’s singing as he avoids flash, flair, or even significant volume, instead focusing on delivering the feeling of the tune. Joey’s voice is laden with introspection, holding a deep sadness at bay with words of numb nostalgia: “I can paint a picture in a moment / of memories, and there aren’t many left.” His sparseness, his general noninvolvement in both the story and the song itself, gives a serious weight to every word.

Lagwagon as a group delivers the depth of sound, but it is Joey’s execution that makes “May 16” a song you can feel. This stems from the emotional and very personal situation in which the song was written. “May 16” describes a very real “turning point” in Joey’s life: his waking up in a strange apartment after a one-night stand, only to watch from the window as two former friends—people with whom he was very close at one point—get married in a park next door. Turning to a nearby acoustic guitar, Joey immediately began processing his feelings on this situation real-time, staring out the window at the ceremony and writing the song stream-of-consciousness as a reaction to a very personal scene from which he had been excluded.

Through his lyrics, Joey expertly captures the painful realization of his situation in that moment. The chorus line of “It’s just another Saturday” acts as a sort of denial, an initial refusal to acknowledge that he is being left behind, until he finally gives into the hurt of his rejection (“I am extradited, uninvited”). Yet even so, there is eventual acknowledgement that this moment is beyond him and more important than his pettiness, so that he comes to terms with that rejection, allowing himself to be proud of this couples’ milestone “from afar” as they “take a step to freedom.” Through “May 16,” Joey uses introspection to analyze an extremely emotional moment in his life and alter his perspective, during a time when his life was “off the rails.”

May 16 was the date of Joey’s realization, and thus the song acts as an eternal reminder of that day for him, a sonic monument to a very emotional moment in his life. So too does this date hold significance for me, albeit a little differently. On May 16, 2010, I awoke very early in the morning to find my mother had suffered a debilitating stroke, which put her in the ICU for a long while and scrambled the speech center of her brain. While she fortunately made a relatively speedy recovery, to this day she still deals with the aftereffects, including visits to multiple doctors and a very occasional speech impediment.

Thus, just as the song serves to remind Joey Cape of this turning point in his life, so does Lagwagon’s “May 16” remind me of how I almost lost my mother. But every time that song slips into my shuffle, I do not lament, but instead celebrate, because I didn’t lose her. She survived then and continues to now, and so hearing this punk banger brings me great joy, because I still get to spend time with my mother, and (hopefully) will get to share many more May 16ths with her.

Millencolin - Pennybridge Pioneers

As I’ve mentioned from the very beginning, the original Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater games have a special place in my heart. They were my introduction to the genre of punk rock, my original exposure to music that was fast, energetic, and honest. The first installment in the game series ignited my love affair with Goldfinger and ska-punk in general, while the sequel acquainted me with the likes of punk legends Lagwagon and Bad Religion. For an eleven-year-old homeschooled dweeb living in semi-rural Connecticut, these games were more than just entertainment: they were my gateway drug into the world of alternative music.

Among the more acclaimed names like Rage Against the Machine, Anthrax, and Powerman 5000, there was also a lesser-known band on the soundtrack of THPS 2: Millencolin, a European group then just beginning to get recognition in the U.S. “No Cigar” was an instant hit with me, its angsty no-fucks-given attitude arriving just as I was becoming a teenager, and I was absolutely enamored. I would play the game for hours just so I could learn the lyrics, all the while wishing I could get my hands on more. Thus, when on my fourteenth birthday I was given a blank check of sorts for CDs (the same haul that brought me Bender’s monumental debut), at the top of the list was Millencolin’s Pennybridge Pioneers, the parent record of “No Cigar” that came to define my standard of punk rock for years to come.

From my first spin of Pennybridge Pioneers, I knew that I had found something worth cherishing. There is no lack of prowess or personality on this record; every song, whether in major or minor key, offers catchy melodies and precise instrumentation too juicy to ignore. The sound is very reminiscent of So. Cal punk, which is no surprise given that Pioneers was recorded in Hollywood and produced by punk icon Brett Gurewitz. Yet this Swedish quartet layers in a large amount of catchy writing onto their music. Instead of shying away from pop in favor of gritty punk, Millencolin dives right in, smashing along a swing beat in “Fox” and chugging at a slow, danceable pace in “The Mayfly.” Similarly, Nikola Sarcevic’s straining and raspy vocal lines seem to rattle out pages of lyrics in seconds, all stuck to a delightfully fun melody. 

While pop is definitely the driving factor in Millencolin’s music, the vehicle is their impeccable punk rock aesthetic. Fredric Larzon smashes his drums with quick and precise strikes, bullying along “Highway Donkey” and “Duckpond” with blurring cut beats. Guitarists Erik Ohlsson and Mathias Farm alternate their rhythm and lead sections to create perfect complements to each other’s playing. And at the center is Sarcevic’s rumbling bass, thumping down the foundation beneath the band or growling in the spotlight in “Devil Me” and “Right About Now.”

On Pennybridge Pioneers, Millencolin takes their skate-punk roots and injects them with a healthy dose of pop, and no song epitomizes this as well as “A-Ten.” Opening with a dolorous yet driving guitar riff, Ohlsson and Farm weave their rhythm pieces together, enveloping the entire spectrum of the instrument’s sound and spinning it into a masterpiece. Nikola’s vocals are laden with emotion as he attempts to console a friend through a loss, his mournful exclamation of “You wanna see her back again” wringing every ounce of feeling from the song. His melodies and the instrumentation belie the song’s minor key, instead drawing hope and happiness from a situation that would usually imply darkness. “A-Ten” drives its emotional content home with relentless energy, a deft blend of mosh and melody that invariably gets stuck in my head long after the song is done.

Undoubtedly, Millencolin has their composition process down to a science, producing pieces that feel as passionate as they sound. As is often the case with this style of music, however, the lyrics on Pennybridge Pioneers want for that same precision and attention to detail. Many of Sarcevic’s lines feel sloppy, his images ill-defined. Lines like “to prevent something like a theft I got her locked around a tree” in “Fox” are laden with unnecessary words, while the phrase “does never get a pass” in “The Ballad” doesn’t even make grammatical sense, perhaps a result of English being the second language choice for these Swedes. Still, I can’t stress enough how absolutely sincere Nikola’s vocals feel, so that even his laziest writing comes across with as much intensity as if he were shouting it right in my face.

Although most of the lyrical work on Pennybridge Pioneers fails to invite anything more than a cursory read, one particular piece manages to fully encapsulate and communicate its ideal with surprising ease: “No Cigar,” the song that had me hooked from the very first slap of the snare. Across a backdrop of searing skate punk, Sarcevic unravels line after line of distilled teenaged angst and alienation. His verses clamber across the various judgmental attitudes we all encounter in our youth: “Tell us where you’re from / what you want to become / and we’ll say if you’re OK,” or the still resonating “We will shut you out / We’ll put you in doubt / If you think that you’re special.” In the face of this negativity, Nikola’s chorus lines cast aside the darkness with a powerful mission statement as he shouts “I don’t care where I belong no more / What we share or not I will ignore / And I won’t waste my time fitting in / ‘Cause I don’t think contrast is a sin.” It is this message of self-acceptance, defying expectations and norms in favor of individuality, that slammed into my 12-year-old ears like a shotgun blast, resonating fully with the budding angst that I was just getting to know. “No Cigar” introduced me to both the sound and ethos of punk rock, values that still reside at my core fifteen years later.

Pennybridge Pioneers is the record that “took [Millencolin] to the next level,” and while it may sound dramatic, in a lot of little ways, it has changed my life too. It gave me my first real taste of So. Cal punk sound (even if they weren’t from Cali), a sound with which I would soon become obsessed. It provided me with the material (and the guts) to start playing bass like a punk, as well as the inspiration to take that bass work to a band setting. It inspired me not just to value my own individuality, but to assert it, to push it through to the forefront in all that I do. And though I can’t imagine it will have the same life-shattering effect on you that it did on me, I urge you to give this record a spin, because at its very worst, it’s still a damn good listen.

Tunes to Check Out:

1) No Cigar

2) Duckpond

3) A-Ten