We Are Scientists - Brain Thrust Mastery
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Pitchfork Media Rating: 0
The modest success of With Love and Squalor-- the album went gold in the UK, where it spawned three top 40 singles-- hasn't gorged We Are Scientists singer Keith Murray's ego: Nearly half of their second major-label LP's 11 songs is a lyrical downer. Murray begged for the listener to use his body as if it were their own on With Love's "Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt", and on his new record he sounds like someone who's been taken up on the offer far too often-- "We all recognize that I'm the problem here" ("Ghouls"), "I realize that I am naturally inclined just to let you down" ("Let's See It"), "Listen, I may have given you the wrong impression" ("Spoken For"). You get the idea, but rarely does it come off as self-pitying so much as self-deprecating. Modesty, however, can create problems for a band that lives three minutes at a time. While With Love and Squalor was frequently, oddly tagged "dance punk"-- a claim that stretched the sub-genre to the breaking point-- We Are Scientists here rely heavily on synthetics, which don't suit them. There's no point in taking a band to task for shitty mastering if it's countered by melodies or emotional resonance (see: Neutral Milk Hotel), but it's troubling for a record that's pursuing more surface thrills. The dominant sound of Brain Thrust Mastery is a synth wash that tries to excite like cocaine but ends up numbing like Novocaine, effectively narcotizing what are mostly bland arrangements to begin with. We Are Scientists got accused of coming on too strong on With Love-- uptempo pop-rock, almost entirely about girls and embarrassing drunkenness-- and they do the same thing here, only from a sonic angle; namely, there's no empty space at all. The lurching fuzz bass and ticky-tack 808 hi hats of "Ghouls" suggests seriously intense study of TV on the Radio's "Staring at the Sun", but it all goes to highlight the importance of David Sitek's production. Despite inevitably blasting into more traditional rock, "Ghouls" still goes nowhere-- each element desperately groping at each other in a cluttered mix like horny teens in the dark. "Lethal Enforcer" comes equipped with a serious mid-1980s Cure jones, and far too much extraneous baggage. The imitative strings are a decent touch, but they keep getting inappropriately prodded by popping bass and chicken-scratch guitar. Even the palm-muted...
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