Seafood
Surviving the Quiet
[Big Wheel Recreation]
Rating: 7.0
Initially, I had trouble remembering where I'd heard the name of the London
four-piece Seafood before. It probably wasn't from their cover of "Levitate
Me" on Invisible Records' obscure Pixies tribute disc. Nor was I likely to
have noticed their chart activity, which barely cracked the top 100, maxing
out in the low-to-mid 90's. Could it have been at that sweaty, word-of-mouth
London gig back in 1997, around the time when they first splashed on the scene?
Unlikely, since I've never been out of America. Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps I
hadn't heard their name before; perhaps, I'd just heard their music many years
ago when it was being released under their variety of pseudonyms: Sonic Youth,
Pavement, Sebadoh, Dinosaur Jr.
Actually, I'm just playin'. (Word.) Certainly, I was familiar with this
English quartet from the barrels of ink that have been poured for them in
the British music rags. The attention they're getting is verging dangerously
on "hype." Since they're on the Boston-based indie Big Wheel Recreation (and
prior to that, the underachieving Fierce Panda label), Seafood is likely
receiving this comprehensive coverage on their own merits, rather than being
run through the corporate rock marketing machine with its army of sleazy,
bribe-happy footsoldier-promoters. The band's debut full-length, Surviving
the Quiet, confirms this hypothesis, but strangely.
Seafood is a band out of time, born too late-- more suited to a movement
an ocean away and a decade removed than any sort of shared attitude with
their contemporary countrymen. They give Britpop a wide berth and a wary
eye, and instead favor the good old American guitar band sound. They
sound like a group who, as kids, first learned to play their instruments
to Pavement CDs instead of Beatles records. (Man, I bet that makes Malkmus
feel really old). Brits enamored of American rock pioneers is
nothing new; it's a tradition as old as popular rock music itself. But think
back-- some good stuff has come out of that national obsession.
"Blech," you're saying. "Why do I want to listen to rehashed, second-rate
wannabes?" Wait, friend. The good news is that Seafood isn't half-bad
at their unabashed, on-the-sleeves, tribute band routine. When was the last
time you really, honest-Abe enjoyed a Dinosaur Jr album instead of just
believing you were supposed to? Better yet, when was the last time you made
some sort of Grumpy Gramps statement like "[mumble mumble] just don't [mumble]
like they used to?" Seafood are part voodoo alchemist and part doppelganger,
resurrecting not only the style of our favorite dead and washed-up pre-grunge
college radio giants, but also, in part, their substance.
"Belt" is an impressive use of dynamic range, with the now-familiar-to-all
subdued/explosive technique. "Guntrip" possesses a swirling, noisy aggression,
but with a healthy, cathartic undertone. Kind of like therapy, as opposed to
rage. Singles like "Easy Path" and "This is Not an Exit" are dead-on radio
whores that will stick in the heads of millions like peanut butter-flavored
taffy. Of course, Seafood have their softer side, too-- evidenced by gentle
nods to Nashville in the slide guitar-rich "Dear Leap the Ride" and the folky,
melodic "Beware Design," intimately sung by drummer Caroline Banks.
Surviving the Quiet won't win album of the year; it will just win fans.
It won't influence others; it will only preserve its own influences,
uncorrupted. Seafood is the kind of band that, in a small but significant
way, renews hope. They make you feel like the music you used to enjoy is
still being made by someone who loved it just as much as you did.
-John Dark