Girls, Father, Son, Holy Ghost
Reviewed by: Chris Bosman
The contention that surrounds San Francisco band Girls may be among the most inexplicable in indie rock. From when they first came out with the sprawling Album centerpiece “Hellhole Ratrace” to the first notes of “Lust For Life”, their particular brand of classic rock-and-roll inspired homage and pastiche has been met with equal parts awe and dismissal. For people that Album connected with, it was the way they took an abundance of 50s and 60s rock tropes and turned them into something that connected emotionally beyond the ubiquitous chord progressions they were using. For those that felt nothing from the Christopher Owens-led band, they seemed musical tourists, their popularity almost arbitrary in comparison to other bands that mined similar territory.
Girls’ second album, Father, Son, Holy Ghost is going to do nothing to quiet either side of the Girls debate. While some bands may have looked at such criticism and attempted to meet their presumed audience halfway, Girls does the opposite, building higher and higher on the foundation that won them adoration and criticism alike. Everything about Father, Son, Holy Ghost is simply more than what was on Album. The hooks sunnier, the chord progressions simpler, the earnestness earnestnessier. And beyond that Girls have added more rock pilfering, piling fried guitar leads, classic rock machismo, and pyshcedelic guitar solos from the 70s on top of their their surf-pop and easy-going rock and roll.
“Honey Bunny”, the opening track, is all classic girls, with sunshine sparkling out of every guitar string, a simple yet engaging song structure. But then check out “Die,” a track that sounds like it should be coming from someone with a young Eric Clapton on lead guitar rather than a band who never showed signs of being able to rock out quite this hard. “Vomit” is a spiritual successor to the drama of “Hellhole Ratrace”, yes, but also make sure to notice the expertly plucked classical guitar of “Just a Song”. As much as Father, Son, Holy Ghost is an expansion upon everything Girls has done up to this point, there are also enticing glances at how they can continue to move forward.
But– and there is a but– Father, Son, Holy Ghost is a difficult record to get a hold of for precisely the same reasons that its successful. For all of the growing the band has done, and for all of the mastery of everything from Roy Orbison reverb to Dick Dale surf rock licks, there are moments when it seems like the emotional delicacy and satisfying immediacy the band balanced on Album is absent. The more the band seems to have honed their craft, they more they seem to be missing just a bit of the soul that birthed them in the first place. A song like “My Ma’”, given the rich and complicated backstory we know about Christopher Owens and his mother, should break hearts, but only ends up being pleasantly morose.
I can’t honestly say that the band hasn’t gotten better. Every instrument comes through with a startling clarity; this is a record that has obviously been poured over, sonically. Owens uses his voice to traverse the ever-changing minefields that are these well-constructed songs. And every musician here is bringing an A-game that Album only barely hinted it. The problems are that the sum of all these component parts is somehow less than what was on Album. For every muscular guitar solo that expertly heightens the tension of one of these tracks, Girls looses a bit of the tug they had on our heartstrings.