For reasons that are still unclear to me, listening to As Tall As Lions new self-titled album feels like being inside a film noir detective story from the 1940s. Not that it sounds anything like the soundtrack to The Big Sleep, and lead singer Daniel Nigro is a far cry from the stoic Bogart of the Maltese Falcon. But there are some things in the music— emotions heightened and reserved, heartbreak that is at once forlorn and nostalgic, a tangible foreboding— that conjure up black and white images of iconic detectives and femme fatales leading them to their downfalls through a hazy cloud of smoke.
Musically, ATAL sound somewhat like the Dears, who kind of sound like the Smiths without the majesty. Alternating gloom and optimism has been done before, but ATAL pull it off rather well. Cradled with an uplifting backing organ, lyrics like “Maybe I had too much wine/ I hope you come back tonight/ You never said goodbye,” are sung with just enough pathos to make you think there is a chance she will come back. But then again there is only one way to read “What if… suffering is the only thing we’re good at?”
Those lyrics weren’t taken from random songs, but from what I believe to be the two strongest tracks on the album. Nestled together side by side in the middle of the album are “Love, Love, Love, (Love, Love)” and “Ghosts of York.” The former is so heart-wrenching its endearing and the latter so hopelessly optimistic it’s actually depressing. Though it seems contradictory, both songs emit and evoke such strong emotions that it is hard to distinguish which feelings are healthy and which are harmful, and if any or all are both. But it isn’t the vague lyrics that drum up the intensity; it’s the swirling guitars, the dancing pianos, the heart-wrenching vocals, the punctuating horns, and the swiftly changing dynamics of the rhythm section.
These features are present throughout the album, and so if this particular sound appeals to you, then the album is pretty consistent all the way through—though it does begin to wear slightly towards the end. If you’ve ever wondered what Keane would sound like if they were from Long Island, well wonder no more. ATAL takes the British favourites’ signature sound and gives it a haunted touch. On album opener “Stab City” the brooding, ambient guitars welcome you to a treacherous place where “every single breath you take may be your last.” It’s the kind of place full of heartbreak and loneliness so scary only Bogey himself would venture into it, but all of us can take in the vicarious pleasure of following him there. |