The Veils and Me

My Rule #2 for a decent music review: Write a first draft. Find every instance of the words “I” or “me.” Get rid of 90% of them.

Now that I’ve established that rule, I’ll go right into breaking it.

I used to want to be a music critic. I quit that dream after reading one too many reviews filled with “like Slayer meets the Muppets” sentences, i.e., reviewers who lazily use other bands or genres as signifiers instead of actually describing the music. For me, it’s Rule #1 of writing a decent music review, and it’s broken all the time. If you’ve ever read any music magazine ever, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Growing to hate that kind of writing was followed shortly by the second and final step in my abandoning the ambition to be the next Lester Bangs. I saw that much of what I wrote was exactly like that. In describing some hot young things straight outta Williamsburg, I might have drawn comparisons to motorik, The Pop Group, and/or early 80s No Wave, and that’s about all I had to offer. Tawdry games of “spot the reference.”

Realizing that was like being pranked with a bucket of ice in a hot shower at six in the morning. I was suddenly AWAKE. I stopped wanting to write about music, and I haven’t looked back.

So what the hell am I doing here? Well, dear readers, I’ve decided that, every once in a while, I will come out of the obscurity I never left in the first place, just long enough to talk briefly about an album I really like. Maybe you’ll go read a real review (probably containing a steaming hot pile of references) or listen to samples. Maybe you’ll like the music too—if so, that’s great. Kudos in advance on your good taste. Future high-five.

First on the list: I really like the new album “Sun Gangs” by The Veils. It’s an incredibly diverse album without a dud track. The ten songs sound like they could have been recorded by at least six different bands. For the price of admission, you get stadium-ready anthems (“Sit Down by the Fire,” “The Letter”); scuzzy, distorted glam played at punk tempos (“Killed by the Boom”); and brooding piano-based ballads (“Sun Gangs,” “Scarecrow”). A commanding presence in every song, chameleonic singer Finn Andrews can veer between a baritone croon and a raw-throated howl from one song to the next. Andrews’ lyrics are outstanding, as on Scarecrow:

Hung by the old field, the night in his eye and the road by his side

He’s trying to show me, it was a lightning bolt set his belly on fire

Scarecrow, caught in my mind

Scarecrow, not made for these times.

That song is haunting. Others are bracing and inspiring. Overall, even though “Sun Gangs” is nothing like Slayer meets the Muppets, I highly recommend this album.