2009, 2010, and 2011 were very busy years for Christopher Owens and J.R. White. They recorded 2 LP's and an EP/LP tweener, released one of the biggest hipster anthems of 2008 in "Lust for Life," and have seen themselves make a meteoric rise from complete unknowns to indie rock heavy hitters. So it probably would not be terribly surprising if Owens and White (and the rest of whoever is playing in their band at a given time) don't release a new record in 2012. Owens has said that he'd like to do a country album, write songs for Beyonce, and he does have a backlog of dozens of unrecorded tunes. That said, with the band's seemingly quite heavy touring schedule, the usual rate at which bands release new albums, and Owens' on-again-off-again drug habits, it seems unlikely to expect any new albums from the band this year. If that's the case, my 2012 will be just a little bit less interesting, so I'm going to take this column to go through some of the more notable moments in the band's discography so far.
Album
The group's bizarrely titled debut LP, Album, must be one of the most uniquely idiosyncratic debut albums of the past decade. Listening to the record is like looking through a dirty, broken kaleidoscope. The songs are all over the map, from 50's doo-wop to howling garage burners where the Owens' self-proclaimed Ariel Pink influence comes through. There is also a schizophrenic quality to his characters as he employs wildly different voices throughout the record, from the nasally "Lust for Life" to the demented Roy Orbison-wannabe on "Headache." Album is also the most unique of their three records, simply because the other two were recorded in legitimate studios with significantly higher fidelity equipment. Album, instead, sounds tinny, noisy, and harsh; it rattles, wobbles, and shakes. It's not altogether much different than that beat-up first car you probably bought when you were sixteen.
Still, the hallmarks of Owens' songwriting are all here and his personality has certainly remained unchanged since these recordings. There is the hopeless romantic and the more-than-occasional drug user, and often these two elements of his personality are wrapped up into one, when he sings "I might never get my arms around you... / Oh Lauren Marie / You might never want me but that doesn't mean you won't get me high." His writing is straightforward and occasionally a bit hackneyed, but Owens sings with so much earnestness that he never quite sounds trite. He doesn't care if it has been said before; he doesn't consider that and he certainly doesn't give a second thought to the idea that his words may come across as naive; he's just expressing himself as best he can.
Not everything works perfectly, as one might expect from an album recorded and stitched together like this. A few songs feel unnecessary and inconsequential: "God Damned" just sounds quirky for the sake of being quirky while the duo of slow songs, "Headache" and "Lauren Marie," keep the second side from living up to the excellent first. Still, the album ends with the nice pair of "Curls" and "Darling." The former is the only instrumental recording while the latter is one of the group's best yet most overlooked tunes. The drum sound feels so live, like you're standing right next to the kit, it's just brilliant. And it is tough not to smile when Owens sings about how he "was feeling so sad and alone but I found a friend in the song that I'm singing."
Broken Dreams Club
The cleaned up, expanded sound of the group's second record is a striking departure from the claustrophobic Album. Opener "The Oh So Protective One" features a horn section, organ accents, and even a trumpet solo, something unimaginable on the previous record. The song absolutely proves to be one of the more divisive moments in the group's discography (though it's not exactly "Like a Rolling Stone"), as many who loved the scattershot, abrasiveness of Girls' previous work found this to be a safe and boring appeal to the masses. Of course there were others who found this change in sound to be a pleasant improvement in maturity and focus. The truth of it probably lies somewhere in the middle, but this song is not one of the group's best.
"Heartbreaker," however, is one of the quintessential Christopher Owens tunes. It has that crisp, hooky chorus ("And when I said I loved you honey / I knew that you would break my heart") that isn't exactly original, but it's still affecting. However, the lilting, poignant verses are some of the best that he's ever written. "When I look in the mirror I'm not as young as I used to be / I'm not quite as beautiful as when you were next to me." It's timeless, romantic songwriting and something that you might hear on the radio. But coming from Owens, it doesn't sound like calculated, manufactured melodrama.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost
Father, Son, Holy Ghost is thus far the clearest representation of Owens' vision to create classic pop music. His writing is as direct as ever and the music culls from the past five decades of pop, soul, and rock and roll. "Die" starts out as an early Sabbath jam that drops in a verse that sounds like it came straight out of Daydream Nation. And when that verse ends, it's right back into the monolithic guitar riffs. It's a truly unexpected and inspired moment that makes the song. Who would have known that could possibly work? Yet it also joyfully recalls some of the more raucous moments of Album like "Morning Light" and "Big Bad Mean Motherfucker."
"Alex," on the other hand, sounds more composed and relaxed than just about anything Girls has recorded. It's a classic indie rock slacker jam, written with that who-gives-a-shit attitude. But Owens only thinly veils his true feelings. "Alex has blue eyes, well who cares, no I don't." Of course he does care, and he admits as much later when the story progresses: "Alex has a boyfriend, oh well, I'm in hell." So straight to the point that it's scary. The same goes for "My Ma," which competes with "Substance" for the title of Girls' most depressing recording. Then there is "Saying I Love You's" carefree bounce that disguises the sentiment that lies at the end of its chorus. "How can I say I love you? / ...Now that you've said everything I said to you, to somebody new." It starts out as a corny refrain that we've all heard dozens of times before, but it twists the knife in at the end.
The thing that makes Christopher Owens somewhat of an enigma is that you can't quite tell whether he's being tongue-in-cheek, or whether that's just the way he was feeling when he wrote the song. And it's also what makes him such a fascinating character. He says the things that most of us feel but are too afraid to admit.
The cleaned up, expanded sound of the group's second record is a striking departure from the claustrophobic Album. Opener "The Oh So Protective One" features a horn section, organ accents, and even a trumpet solo, something unimaginable on the previous record. The song absolutely proves to be one of the more divisive moments in the group's discography (though it's not exactly "Like a Rolling Stone"), as many who loved the scattershot, abrasiveness of Girls' previous work found this to be a safe and boring appeal to the masses. Of course there were others who found this change in sound to be a pleasant improvement in maturity and focus. The truth of it probably lies somewhere in the middle, but this song is not one of the group's best.
"Heartbreaker," however, is one of the quintessential Christopher Owens tunes. It has that crisp, hooky chorus ("And when I said I loved you honey / I knew that you would break my heart") that isn't exactly original, but it's still affecting. However, the lilting, poignant verses are some of the best that he's ever written. "When I look in the mirror I'm not as young as I used to be / I'm not quite as beautiful as when you were next to me." It's timeless, romantic songwriting and something that you might hear on the radio. But coming from Owens, it doesn't sound like calculated, manufactured melodrama.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost
Father, Son, Holy Ghost is thus far the clearest representation of Owens' vision to create classic pop music. His writing is as direct as ever and the music culls from the past five decades of pop, soul, and rock and roll. "Die" starts out as an early Sabbath jam that drops in a verse that sounds like it came straight out of Daydream Nation. And when that verse ends, it's right back into the monolithic guitar riffs. It's a truly unexpected and inspired moment that makes the song. Who would have known that could possibly work? Yet it also joyfully recalls some of the more raucous moments of Album like "Morning Light" and "Big Bad Mean Motherfucker."
"Alex," on the other hand, sounds more composed and relaxed than just about anything Girls has recorded. It's a classic indie rock slacker jam, written with that who-gives-a-shit attitude. But Owens only thinly veils his true feelings. "Alex has blue eyes, well who cares, no I don't." Of course he does care, and he admits as much later when the story progresses: "Alex has a boyfriend, oh well, I'm in hell." So straight to the point that it's scary. The same goes for "My Ma," which competes with "Substance" for the title of Girls' most depressing recording. Then there is "Saying I Love You's" carefree bounce that disguises the sentiment that lies at the end of its chorus. "How can I say I love you? / ...Now that you've said everything I said to you, to somebody new." It starts out as a corny refrain that we've all heard dozens of times before, but it twists the knife in at the end.
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