Aislers Set
The Last Match
[Slumberland]
Rating: 7.5
It's my second week writing for Pitchfork, and already I've been
tempted by corruption. No, record companies aren't throwing cash, drugs
and boy-toys at me in exchange for favorable reviews. It's something far
more seductive: laziness.
The Aislers Set's latest album, The Last Match, comes with not one,
but three Pitchfork-ready review paragraphs printed on the back
cover. Each is ostensibly about the band, although none of them actually
describe its music. The first goes the pretentious route, referencing
17th century painters and European travel, the second is a sentimental
description of "late night obsessive scrawls and early morning echoes of
kisses curling around the dawn," and the last is a self-consciously
literary account of minutiae like "a crushed soda can is beneath my foot,
it's rusted red a dried wound on the frosted grey."
It would be only too easy to repeat one of these verbatim, and pretend to
be more arty, wussy, or boring than I actually am. Unfortunately, I'd be
forced to imply that The Last Match is arty, wussy or boring, and
none of those things happen to be true.
Amy Linton's songs are certainly well-crafted, but they aren't so abstract
that allusions to other art forms are necessary to describe them. Musical
reference points include '60s icons like Phil Spector, who originated the
Set's girl-groupy multi-tracked harmonies, or a more proficient take on the
fuzzed-out shambly pop of mid-to-late '80s groups like the Black Tambourine
that the Aislers Set so clearly inspired.
The three songs written by Wyatt Cusack, also a member of the more rocking
Trackstar, are the most twee of the bunch, particularly since Cusack's fey
vocals bear an uncannily resemblance to those of Belle and Sebastian's Stuart
Murdoch. Linton, on the other hand, knows how to rock, as she proved in her
mid-'90s group, Henry's Dress, which fused shoegazer shimmer with mod-rock.
She's since forsaken the My Bloody Valentine influence, but The Last Match
still packs a mod punch, particularly on "The Way to Market Station" and "Been
Hiding."
The Aislers Set don't slack on keeping things interesting, either. Their
arrangements feature liberal doses of organ, hand claps, and occasional
brass flourishes. Linton's lyrics capture the highs and lows of being a
musically literate urbanite, throwing out lines like, "I could be your
sudden let's go out/ Could be your favorite bar in town," and a desperate
plea to the frontman of British cult legends the Television Personalities,
"Please help me, Dan Treacy."
Normally, I'm not one to resist assistance, even of the unsolicited variety.
For the Aislers Set, however, I feel compelled to put forth the effort myself.
-Meg Zamula