Lemons
Rating: 3.0/5.0
Label: Goner Records
Bay Area one-man garage explosion Ty Segall has christened his latest collection of songs Lemons, which turns out to be a rather fitting name for its 12 songs. From the scuzzy stomp of “It #1″ to the sonic departure of “Untitled #2,”Segall’s songs are brief, sour tastes of the kind of racket he can make all on his own in the studio. Having previously played in The Traditional Fools and Sic Alps, the baby-faced Segall and the SG he punishingly attacks teeter on the precarious edge of Next Big Thing, earning the kind of hype doled out by outlets such as Nylon, which recently named Segall as an artist the totes have a crush on.
At this point in rock ‘n’ roll culture, describing and/or reading a description of the sound of a garage rock record can be humdrum business but I’ll try my damnedest. Obviously, there are nods to Nuggets-era noisemasters and guitar mashers throughout Lemons, but it was Kurt Cobain I kept hearing again and again in Segall’s songs. I don’t mean lyrically, since Segall shrouds most of his vocals in distortion and echo, so you get the feeling he considers himself a negligible wordsmith. Where I hear Cobain is in Segall’s plunky, lackadaisical guitar strumming. “Die Tonite” has him listlessly singing that you’re “gonna die tonight ” while working out the kind of knowingly-lame guitar riff that populates many a Nirvana song. Following song “Johnny” is a distant relative of the sort of “Territorial Pissings” fervor; it’s just that Segal is mostly smirk, where Cobain was mostly wince.
The most refreshing and interesting tune on all of Lemons is “Untitled #2,” where Segall goes acoustic and instrumental. Amidst swirling percussion, the musician gets feverishly gypsy on his guitar, before his electric guitar makes a climactic appearance at the end of the track. This is the sole appearance on the record of any kind of dynamic between light and shade; elsewhere it’s echoey, distorted stomp, sounding like most other stompy, echoey, garage rock bands who’ve released hype-laden records in the last year. Segall’s favoring of this production style-cum-Flavor of the Month throws the 26-minute record into an unflattering relief; it’d be one thing if it were just lo-fi, but Segall’s cover of a Captain Beefheart tune makes it come off as entirely too self-conscious. It’s not that it’s a bad record, as Segall’s got some tunes under the crud and corrosion. But with his songs wearing all those layers, he just doesn’t sound like himself.
by Chris Middleman
