The Raveonettes: "In and Out of Control"
By Kristen Boysen Danish pop-rockers The Raveonettes have not only committed, but actively embraced, what could represent the single most cardinal of musical sins. Vaguely recovered from sonic chemical burn that was the band’s 2008 release “Lust Lust Lust,” the wily duo of Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo have sloshed together a curious dosage of 1960s tambourine rock with girl-group pop hooks on their fifth studio album “In and Out of Control.” The result: an entertainingly odd, albeit potentially blasphemous, concoction that falls into an untouched crevice on the hypothetical spectrum that can only be labeled as ‘Josie and the Pussycats meets Sonic Youth meets Blind Melon.' The intriguing thing here is that they actually get away with it. While “Lust Lust Lust” played like a one-tracked rant, “In and Out of Control” wisely prioritizes raw lyrics over synthetic noise. Boldly schizophrenic revelations bleed through a reverie of bouncy pop jams, staining pink plush with blood, sweat and calculatedly camouflaged tears. Though the opening tracks might be written off initially as musically monothematic or monotone, spacey lyrics offer a smorgasbord of scandal and sincerity. Slow-tempo sing-a-longs seem the perfect cover for the flashbacks of a blemished past. Rather, Wagner and Foo rely on their lyrics to describe, in gritty, parental advisory-warranting detail, the grim wasteland of suicide, rape, drug abuse and failed relationships. As the tracks progress, it becomes gradually clearer that they have diabolically switched the salt and sugar shakers to create an exotic, punky renegade of melodic polytheism. Fresh-faced opener “Bang!” is a patriotic testament to the duo’s love of poppy underlay. To those unacquainted with the group’s bubblegum-smeared tradition of sarcasm, the track plays like a lightly caffeinated version of Disney’s eye-gouging “It’s a Small World After All.” Simplistic heartthrob drumbeats and sanitized anti-riffs summon sun-bleached memories of summer, scraped knees and ice cream cones, as Wagner and Foo blindfold the listener with candied strips of innocence (“Kids want to bop out in the street/fu-fu-fun, all summer long”). “Bang!,” however, is simply a candy-coated cover-up for the heavy, occult emotions that persistently drag the album’s focus away from celebrated noise-making to songwriting. The bouncy “Gone Forever,” which recounts the good times preceding a breakup, comes off as somewhat of a cry for help. “I won’t forget you in the night I drink my head off,” drawls Wagner. “Memories of you and I…help me, help me, please.” It is a recurring theme that sullenly segregates the album from any other that The Raveonettes have released-childlike honesty disguised by childlike backing tracks, power cleverly disguised by perky power chords. A bipolar lyrical scheme dauntlessly verifies the idea that there is a place for issues of social contempt or ugliness in the shiny pink palace of pop. The tracks seem to be all about revelation and retraction of a long-stifled secret, creating a falsified first impression with fuzzy guitar work and hazy harmonies. “Last Dance,” for instance, plays like a modern-day “Melt with You.” The self-proclaimed anti-pop avant-garde crowd might curl a lip at the baby crib mobile wind chime effects and sleepy vocals, hell-bent on writing it off as just another gag-inducing slow-dance staple. However, it isn’t long before Wagner intrudes with the antonym: “every time you overdose, I rush to intensive care. Another said I stare, before you disappear.” Similarly, The Raveonettes consistently manage to craft fist-pumping pop pranks out of dangerous themes. The painfully straightforward first verse of fourth track “All Boys who Rape Should be Destroyed” vocalizes the recurring anguish of a rape victim in gratingly unapologetic terms. “Three to one, girl, how can you win?” implores Foo. “One horrid night you hope it’s a bad dream.” The chorus, meanwhile, encapsulates the victim’s torment in a provocative, disproportionately catchy chant (“B-boys-b-boys who rape should…be-be-be-be-be-destroyed”). A mechanized hip-hop drumbeat and disturbingly catchy, handclap-conducive chorus paints standout track “Suicide” with thick strokes of irony. One track later, the distortion-packed “D.R.U.G.S.” comes packaged with concert-ready “ooo”s and the rhythmically solid recitation “D-R-U-G-S.” Likewise, the Motown-esque “Oh, I Buried You Today,” masqueraded by a slow-moving 1950’s sock hop bassline, comes across lyrically like Sonic Youth’s “Little Trouble Girl” on helium. “My heart was on fire,” Foo admits. “But now, I cry.” From toddler-like music box synth effects, however, alarming moments of honesty surge to the surface on screaming guitar jams, while mumbled, sometimes incomprehensible vocals conceal revelatory lyrics that disclose why the vocalist screens his most disturbing emotions with pure sugar. The opening riff resembles a gritty hybrid of the Smashing Pumpkin’s “My Dahlia” and Depeche Mode’s “Never Let Me Down Again.” The clarity of the guitar is staggering, ringing through compact, three-minute tracks with the sonic articulateness of a decades-old standout from Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. The steely licks mark a distinct transition from bubblegum synth bop to the curious juxtaposition of blues and grunge. The chorus culminates in a candid explanation for the vocalist’s inability to express his pain musically. “You know the reason I can’t hurt,” Wagner says. “I got a heart of stone.” In the short span between their last two releases, The Raveonettes seem to have grown lyrically, fusing irony and sarcasm with the high fructose pop play around which they have developed their sound. The power in this album lies just below the sugar sand dunes of nursery rhyme chants and cheery, major key choruses, wherein lie twisted layers of innocence where emotions run out of shook-up soda cans. |
