Women

F yeah women, great album. No album artwork unfortunately (it's an indie label, so they're not rich, you know...)

Women is, of course, comprised of four fellas—irony is never ignored when musicians can’t afford mansions. That they call themselves (and their self-titled debut) Women is beside the point, though. Naturally, they have decided to go retro and bring back the lo-fi production values of Guided by Voices and countless other small-time bands that could have afforded better production but intentionally chose to record music pastiches that sound “cheap.” But for all the left turns that Robert Pollard fixated upon, the best Guided by Voices albums had umbrella themes and methods; varied influences came together for focused album efforts. But Women wants to be of two polar opposite worlds—experimental noise rock and smart retro pop—and by doing both within short breaths, exhibits just how much better they are at doing the latter.Fronted by Patrick Flegel and recorded by Chad VanGaalen (in his basement, actually), Women is clearly interested in push-and-pull dynamics: giving melody to madness and skewing the tones and rhythms of the conventional. Very few of these songs behave like a song ought to, yet a little stress does most bands good. But instead of merely inflecting their oeuvre with moments of tension, they stretch their strengths too far. Comfort zones can be boring, but bands should definitely know their limits, especially on a debut.Women* starts so promisingly with “Cameras.” Echo chamber vocals are joined by galloping rust-wire guitars, but just as they hit their stride, the song quits early and we’re tossed into “Lawncare”’s grinding factory crash, all iron girders, steel wool and pounding machines. It’s tough not to get caught up in the spark-shower stomp, but the song overstays its welcome a bit and closes with screeching feedback. Following that, “Woodbine” is just yawn-inducing Animal Collective sensory wash hijinks, and no sane person wants to sit through that again and again (at three-and-a-half minutes, it’s blessedly brief compared to AC’s typically incessant early-to-mid-00s exercises). I was beginning to fret.But then they go all 60s pop on us with “Black Rice,” finding Flegel swooning and sighing on the mic over a sandy psychedelic melody. There is some lo-fi static on here, but not much else to relate it to the last three cuts. Two quickies follow that up—“Sag Harbor Bridge” and “Group Transport Halls”—concise little fragments with enough jangle and pow to make them memorable. “Shaking Hands” is British Invasion bliss, with fabulous instrumental interaction (particularly between bass and guitar) and a frantic, nervy rattle to keep us shaking. It’s the album’s best bet.Yet after “Upstairs,” another solid tune inspired by 60s garage rock/pop, Women take another plummet into racketing dissonance. “January 8th” is a reckless, baffling experiment that begins grating, turns intriguing around the halfway point with its frenetic drum stapling and atonal guitar blasts, and then becomes even more disappointing when it goes nowhere special after that. And then we end with “Flashlights,” another inexplicable exercise in noise friction, like they were skimming through Rapeman and Sonic Youth and forgot to add context. It’s a little late in the game to be trying out no-wave anti-rock. You can’t really show off new tricks in the medium of “nothing,” right?I suppose I should be grateful that the entire album wasn’t made up of tracks like “Woodbine” and “Flashlights,” but they stand out for all the wrong reasons on an LP featuring such great tunes like “Black Rice” and “Shaking Hands.” The mistakes are too glaring to gloss over so easily. The album’s pretty short—did Women think we’d forget the highs and lows right away? Yes, “January 8th” is brief enough to not be too distracting and “Lawncare” would have made a fine addition to any industrial rock record (anywhere else and I might have championed “Lawncare,” in fact), but they’re tough to ignore. I realize that there’s some vague connective tissue here—the gentle guitar reverb, the tape hiss, the balance between melody and discordance—but not enough reasoning to line up squalor and splendor so near each other. It seems a waste for a band to spend so much time bending music out of shape when they’re so good at composing pop songs.

Lately, when it comes to indie-rock, bands have become more and more predictable. This album pushes the envelop, inviting listeners to be challenged with noisier moments such as "Upstairs" and then coaxing them with songs like "Group Transport Hall." Post-punk powers such as Swell Maps would be proud of the expansive soundscapes one can find on this album. Women are fresh and essential in what has become a formulaic genre. From beginning to end, this album flows with ease and intelligence. Simply put, this album is a masterpiece.

Pretty good album though I prefer the second one

I'm a big fan of the ladies.