Language of Faint Theory, the new album from Dundee Scotland’s The Hazey Janes, solidifies roughly a decade of existence for the group. An impressive accomplishment of human interaction to be sure, but their latest, the band’s fourth LP (but only the third to be commercially available), finds them ambitious and assured on ten songs, a tally that includes a handful of tracks precisely described as exceptional.
The music of The Hazey Janes can be accurately if a bit lazily synopsized as residing at the place where infectious power pop and sharp-minded indie pop mingle to expand upon their uninhibited shared desire to receive widespread exposure. However, the tenure of The Hazey Janes is also well-described as beating unlikely odds by weathering unusually difficult circumstances.
Specifically, due to legal issues their second LP, the fully completed Hands Around the City, remains unreleased. Lasting ten years isn’t that unusual, though making it that long as an outfit worthy of attention is certainly a trickier feat. But having finished product left lingering in the can (cut at Hoboken NJ’s Water Music Recorders with the services of prolific producer John Agnello) is a tough situation and surely enough to break the collective spirit of most.
Bands, more so than solo performers, are generally measured by productivity based on new material, and fresh stuff is far from easily procured from the branches of the ol’ song bush. That The Hazey Janes have actually gotten better and diversified is testament to the adage of strength being acquired through adversity.
The Hazy Janes were formed by vocalist/guitarist Andrew Mitchell and bassist Matthew Marra. After attending early practices, Marra’s sister Alice became involved on guitar, keyboards and vocals, with drummer/vocalist Liam Brennan joining late in ’03. Their self titled ’04 EP and ‘06’s full-length debut Hotel Radio revealed a propensity for solid Alt-styled pop-rock with elements of Americana folded in, though unlike other observers I find it hard to think of The Hazey Janes as a country-rock proposition.
This mainly comes down to an undisguised pop complexion. Even though parts of 2011’s likeable self-produced effort The Winter That Was submits the Janes at their loudest, it’s still a tangibly power pop affair. Language of Faint Theory sees them revisiting El Puerto de Santa Maria in Spain and the studio of Paco Loco.
That facility served as the locale of Hotel Radio’s recording and the Janes’ first encounter with Agnello, who also returns to figure in this new LP’s positive result. Opener “Iwan” quickly establishes the largeness of production, its slower tempo sprinkled with touches of an uneasy disposition and well-rendered background vocals, particularly during an adept yet not too flashy guitar solo briefly bringing Todd Rundgren to mind.
Opening with a moodier number and then picking up the pace is a familiar maneuver, but “The Fathom Line” shows it’s still an effective tactic when the songs are up to snuff, and it additionally presents the beneficial effects of live performance on their studio-based creativity; shortly before Language of Faint Theory’s recording, The Hazey Janes were out playing some spacious joints as openers for Wilco. The disc’s second track reflects it.
The pop-rock dynamic of “The Fathom Line” seems almost tailor-made to go over gangbusters in a large building or expansive grassy field, with Andrew Mitchell’s vocals fully enunciated as a crafty arena-rock guitar flourish foreshadows the song’s euphoric peak. Things promptly settle back into the previously established groove as they sturdily ride it to conclusion.
Then “All is Forgotten” delivers an unabashed pop downshift, replacing the rock motions with meticulously plucked and bowed strings, carefully applied clouds of keyboard atmosphere and deftly-struck vibes enveloping Mitchell’s forthright but not overbearing croon. Frankly a gifted pop singer, his contribution is integral to the outfit’s overall success.
To elaborate, Mitchell’s input to “If Ever There Is Gladness” is quite worthwhile, his anxious fragility considerably enhancing Language of Faint Theory’s most indie pop-hued piece, a pretty yet spry tune of appreciable construction (with a non-trite false finish). The cut suitably underlines The Hazey Janes’ orientation as a group.
On that topic, “Beyond the Heath” offers one of the record’s subtler treats in Matthew Marra’s bass, the instrument driving the song’s structure in tandem with Brennan’s in-the-pocket drumming as Mitchell’s voice, the woozy Theremin-esque keyboards, swirling sibling harmonies and possibly imitation horn fanfares encircle it all.
The Winter That Was provided a substantial forward leap for the Janes, in part through an at-times bold adjustment to their template, a twist aptly pegged as New Wavy. And that’s cool, but it’s also dangerous if relied on too much. Thankfully these fresh cuts avoid any retro/neo pigeonholing; for instance, there’s “(I’m) Telescoping,” its chiming guitar emitting a distinctly ‘60s-flavor. I’ll add that the maximal nature of the recording is at its best here.
And the title song holds more of Marra’s welcome bass as his sis ably sings the pleasant but not especially earth-shattering tune, though deftly-handled backing vox and organically emerging trumpet raises its quality significantly. Furthermore, the repeated chorus at the end sneaks up on the ears very nicely, the instrumentation fading out as the layered singing rises. It’s a sweet culmination that could’ve wrapped the album without a hitch. But it doesn’t.
Language of Faint Theory contains three tracks greatly elevating an already strong endeavor. The first, “In Shadows Under the Tree,” is a major shift into that aforementioned country state of mind. Its rural sensibility, the pedal steel twanging and harmonica whining away, combines with some serious crooning, Mitchell absolutely devoid of reserve as a little extra heat is conjured via gradually mounting rhythmic energy. Anybody bummed that young Scott Walker never made a record under the auspices of Owen Bradley should step right up to this one.
The second highpoint is “The Genesis,” which tangles with a rockier early-‘80s aura, this time exploring the era’s power pop-descended chart smashes (Springfield, Money et al), including full-blown emo-explosiveness in the choruses and keyboard trimmings burrowing through the New Wave to camp on the border of the same period’s pop-prog excesses. Kinda miraculously, it not only doesn’t suck, but shrewdly sets the disc hurdling for the homestretch, with much of its appeal coming from Mitchell’s ability to handle the vocal responsibilities on such an audaciously conceived change of pace.
The last of the standouts is the LP’s closer. “Bellefield Moon” is a keyboard ballad, its resonance deepened by the severe closeness of the recording, so close in fact that a background creaking (perhaps a chair or piano bench) is audible. The ambiance is further enhanced by savvy instrumental developments, as swells of stings usher in a superb ending.
The final sound heard is a moving train. Throughout, The Hazey Janes provide content to match formal achievement; “The Fathom Line” is a tribute to Dundee, for just one example. And while the group’s prior output coheres into a sturdy body of work, it mostly connects as a prelude to the impressiveness of Language of Faint Theory. With it, a veteran band has produced their first outstanding record.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
