Critical Voices: Girls – Album

San Francisco is a near-mythical place. Sure, part of that might its druggy reputation, and from the beat poets and hippies who once roamed the Haight-Ashbury—but, really, it’s about music. Frisco has spawned many an unforgettable band: from Sly and the Family Stone to Deerhoof, The Grateful Dead to the Dead Kennedys.
The debut LP from Girls, the San Francisco two-piece composed of Christopher Owens and Chet “J.R.” White, draws on the rich musical heritage of the city, jangling with hazy, guitar-driven tales of adolescent romance, drunken jaunts through city streets, and joint rips on the beach.
Like fellow Bay Area rockers Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Girls sound a bit retro—think the era of T-birds and drive-in movies. “Big Bad Mean Mother Fucker” buzzes with reverb over a bed of Beach Boys-esque harmonies and raspy, lo-fi vocals. In songs like “Curls” and “Headache,” where lilting, psychedelic melodies intersperse with guitar twangs, you can hear the influence of Summer of Love icons like Jefferson Airplane.
But Owens and White’s musicianship fails to reach the peaks once ascended by their forbearers. The simple guitar rhythms get repetitive. While Christopher Owens’ vocals are at times husky and evocative, they mostly come out flat and half-assed. There isn’t really a standout song on the album, the closest would be “Hellhole Ratrace,” a rollicking ballad that is anything but immediately ear-catching.
If you can imagine a slower, lo-fi MGMT covering The Kooks, you have a rough idea of what this band sounds like. The creativity and talent is there, but somewhere along the way, that vision, whatever it is, was lost. But if nothing else, the Girls LP is a promising beginning for the band, not to mention a beautiful scene of summer debauchery to have floating around your head come winter.

Voice’s Choices: “Hellhole Ratrace,” “Laura”, “Big Bad Mean Motherfucker”