Pill is an energetic Brooklyn four-piece advancing quickly on a journey into the realms of art-friendly post-punk-derived raucousness. Earlier this year they issued a self-titled five-song EP to a largely affirmative response, the 200 copies of its cassette incarnation wasting little time evaporating from availability. Likewise, the group’s fresh 7-inch on Mexican Summer is poised to sell out its limited edition of 300 in unusually rapid fashion; as of this writing only 28 remain, and folks into ’79 Rough Trade, ’91 Kill Rock Stars, and the first couple decades of Sonic Youth’s existence are encouraged to investigate.
Latter-day immersions into deep-rooted genres regularly find success through the combination of inspiration and ingenuity. This is no great revelation of course, and for that matter neither are observations into how fresh expressions of long-established sounds (rather than conscious attempts to chart new musical territory) commonly profit from inclusionary attention spanning across decades.
Sometimes this leads to hybridization bordering on innovation anyway; Pill’s post-punk/indie rock merger isn’t all the way there yet, but vocalist-bassist Veronica Torres, saxophonist Benjamin Jaffe, guitarist Jonathan Campolo, and drummer Andrew Spaulding have made laudatory strides in a relatively brief timeframe.
Their debut arrived courtesy of the Dull Tools label. The endeavor of Parquet Courts vocalist-guitarist Andrew Savage, in addition to his band’s 2012 LP Light Up Gold, Dull Tools has released product from Beth Israel, PC Worship, Future Punx, Eaters, and others. Simultaneously promising and surprisingly confident, the trajectory of Pill’s introductory effort was admirably lacking in predictability.
The No Wave-kissed Blondie motions of opener “T.V. Wedding” brought an immediate touch of subtlety to the inaugural outing, with Torres’s Harry-isms complemented quite well by Jaffe’s sax, his playing mixing hints of Steve Mackay (RIP) into a late-night smoldering approach that’s nicely accentuated by the noirish progressions of Campolo’s guitar.
The thrust shifts from sophistication to pure art-heat; Torres’s delivery and tone on “Hotline” are undeniably in the debt of Kim Gordon (but refreshingly lacking in obviousness) as the music explores the edgier side of the ‘90’s (post-punk-informed) indie explosion complete with a mid-song sax freak-out and unexpectedly harmonious vocal additives in the second half.
These qualities help to shape the EP’s clear highpoint, “Misty Eyed Porno Reader” setting the controls for the heart of the Riot Grrl/Kill Rock Stars crossroads, and while Jaffe’s incessant honking initially connects as closer to X-Ray Spex than to “out” jazz, the avant nature of his blowing becomes quickly discernible.
Definitely in possession of a hearty set of lungs, Jaffe displays a measure of restraint during the moodier “Personality Flaw.” Closing on the skronk-thud-squall of “Psychic Nipple,” the Pill EP lands firmly in the Sonic Youth-descended noise-rock universe as it spotlights the emergence of another spirited gang of historically conversant extenders.
Making the jump to Mexican Summer for their new 45 finds them deepening the parameters of their sound in a number of advantageous ways. For starters, the general muscle is a few shades livelier in total impact yet progresses logically from the debut, an unsurprising circumstance as the production for each is credited to Andy Chugg of fellow NYC act Pop. 1280.
Pill’s aural character solidly in place, the 7-inch offers familiarity but avoids any threat of premature stagnation. Evenly mixed amid clamorous surroundings, Torres’s presence is strongly felt on “Hot Glue,” rotating amongst a reliable speak-sing, angrily barked lines, anguished moments, and phrases repeated in a cooler mode.
Jaffe’s execution is just as striking; where much of his contribution to the EP is focused upon cyclical honk simplicity, the a-side here finds him alternating between acidic R&B reed-chewing and the Coltrane/Sanders Fire Music paradigm Mackay launched from so productively on The Stooges’ Fun House.
This shouldn’t give the impression that Pill is dominated by two persons; Spaulding sets the rhythmic dimension into motion in a pleasantly non-rudimentary manner, and while Campolo delves into a guitar zone frankly unimaginable without Moore and Ranaldo, even as said terrain has been previously covered by numerous subterranean acts from the late ‘80s up to right now few have managed to utilize it so effectively. Too savvy to register as rank copyists, “Hot Glue” unfurls with imaginative potency.
This is equally applicable to the flip. “A.I.Y.M?” sidesteps any blatant SY comparisons to heave forth a hammering gallop of barely controlled mayhem. Riding atop kit battering and driving bass, Torres dominates the early going, agitated and guttural, though when her singing momentarily drops out for the instrumental midsection the intensity of the proceedings doesn’t flag.
Guitar abrasion gets interspersed with Jaffe’s heavy breathing as the rhythm continues barreling forward and vocals materialize from low in the mix (chanting “Am I Your Man?”). The cacophony crescendos and the track resets for the finale, Torres’s emotional spillage well-controlled and reinforcing the equality of instrumental heft and thematic concerns in Pill’s overall attack.
Mexican Summer mentions a “painterly contempt for rock formalism,” and I can certainly dig the sentiment. However, the reality is Pill seems to know exactly what it is they want to do and importantly execute those ideas skillfully as a collective. Yes, Torres emits ample verve via sturdy, flexible pipes and Jaffe augments it through adroit disruption on a distinctive axe, but for the moment at least these individuals are operating as a full-fledged unit, a scenario underlining more than mere surface appreciation for their stylistic points of reference.
The narratives of post-punk and indie are loaded with fleeting bouts of inspiration and ingenuity getting dulled into formula or softened for potential marketplace acceptance. And this 45 could prove to be Pill’s creative apex, but it’s hard to deny my excitement over a prospective full-length if that’s indeed the route they opt to pursue.
The larger canvas has been the undoing of many a talented group, but it also very occasionally produces a masterpiece. Chances are severely slim that Pill will reach the heights of Fun House; the raw outward-bound temperament of “Hot Glue” and “A.I.Y.M?” makes it plain they should try.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
