The Thermals - 'F**kin A' (Sub Pop Records)
3/5
By: Thomas Hannan
It was those happy-go-lucky, melody-worshipping party animals The Shins who first personally suggested to us that Sub Pop might be calming down a little. If 'F**kin A' is anything to go by, The Thermals are either a worthy token nod towards the label's abrasive past, or the aforementioned Albuquerque lads were having us on. It's rare you can use one word to describe a record, but here, 'raucous' works just perfectly.
And a thoroughly entertaining ramshackle tirade against God knows what it is too. It's entirely true to say that often tracks can merge into one another without anyone noticing, but at all times it can still grab the attention and give it a good kicking (what, you mean you couldn't tell from the title?)
There are a couple of interesting, oft repeated tricks in The Thermals' bag, the first being that the drums are often little more developed than your standard metronome ('End To Begin' pounds exactly so, 'Every Stitch' even so early on sounds as if it's trying to demolish the very stage it's playing on), except it sounds as if someone is drumming using the inside of your skull. Secondly, that guitar sound - ouch. Abrasive isn't the half of it, thankfully it's largely used to add grit to two-minute pop songs such as the tempest of the opening call to arms 'Our Trip': anything more deadly and we'd most likely be going away with scars. Thirdly, they use repetitiveness fully to their advantage. Heard a bit you've enjoyed in a Thermals song? Well fret not, as chances are it'll be repeated again within a few seconds. It sometimes even sounds as if they've written a forty second song, thought it wasn't long enough and just decided to play it again. Deja vu? Hardly ever, as there's only one track here that breaks the three-minute mark. Punk-f**king-rock.
There are a small number of things about 'F**kin A' that are brilliant. The foremost is 'How We Know', the superb, already noted three minute plus (well, just) composition that although stands as their least aggressive number still manages to be by far their finest, the only real instance where every instrument gets a little chance to breathe (most of the rest of the time it sounds as if drums, guitars, bass and vocals are all gagging for breath underneath each other - perhaps that's why the songs are so short), and the kind of song where you want to sing cheesy harmonies on the vocals regardless of the fact that nothing of the sort exists anywhere on the entire record. Furthermore, if only more bands could knock out 12 tunes as electrically charged as these in a mere twenty-eight minutes, the world would be a better place. No messing, there's just no time.
But yes, regrettably there are realistically only a few things here that are truly exceptional. Mind you, there are no more than a few that are anything near dreadful (that pointlessly bothersome title for one), the rest of its faults being merely slightly annoying. Whilst there's often nothing more dull than a record that refuses to pick up the pace, you can find equal ground for contest with an LP such as this which flat out refuses to slip below the velocity of a force-ten gale, or for once to swap the channel on the guitar amp from gain to clean even when both strategies would work much more to the track's advantage ('Let Your Earth Quake, Baby' sounds rushed where it could well be - whisper it - touching...) But let us not forget that it's over in less than half an hour. With criticisms as minor as this, that's hardly an amount of time for it to really get anyone's goat.
Still, it's precisely these slight quibbles that are currently holding The Thermals back from being a great band, and 'F**kin A' from being much more than a momentary exhilaration. However, you gather from the carefree sentiment of the whole affair that at this stage at least, it was unlikely they were aiming for anything beyond precisely what they've achieved.
Artists in this article: The Thermals
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