The Gaslight Anthem - Handwritten
Mercury Records, 2012
Five stars
Last December, when I ranked Brian Fallon's side project (The Horrible Crowes, with an album titled
Elsie)
as my sixth favorite record of the year, I speculated that, probably, the young frontman still had his masterpieces ahead of him. That was a still few months before the title and tracklist for
Handwritten, the fourth full-length album from Fallon and his main bandmates in The Gaslight Anthem, surfaced online, but I already had high hopes for what 2012 would bring for them. And how could I not? Fallon worships Springsteen and is a disciple of Petty; he's shared the stage with the E-Street Band; he can bellow like Tom Waits or croon like the old Motown legends: his band can scorch the stage like The Clash or convincingly deliver covers of untouchable hits like "Baba O' Riley" by The Who; and on
Handwritten, that band, with Fallon at the forefront, finally has the talent, the resources, the songs, and the timing to make a case for themselves, not only as one of the last great rock 'n' roll acts, but as one of the all time greats, period.
I adored
The '59 Sound, the 2008-released near-masterpiece that, until now, has stood as Fallon and co's definitive statement. That record was a deep collection of vintage rock 'n' roll, from the nostalgic Springsteen references to the wistful summertime imagery that drenched many of its songs, and in the years since its release, it has become a personal favorite of mine. 2010's
American Slang was almost as good, trading Springsteen for shades of Motown pop ("Bring it On") and Van Morrison spontaneity ("The Diamond Church Street Choir"), but on the whole, it was distinctly less immediate. Detractors claimed that the band had shed every ounce of the punk influence that had defined their debut (
Sink or Swim, a solid debut, but their weakest work so far) in exchange for a cleaner, more commercially viable sound. And while that was true, the main problem was that, as great as
American Slang was, it just wasn't quite up to the level of its predecessor.
A killer side project, an adventurous covers EP, and a major record contract later, The Gaslight Anthem is finally ready to play in the big leagues. They bring in Brendan O'Brien, Springsteen's most recent go-to producer, to help them punch up the sound for their first play in the major label world, and boy, is it a powerful one. O'Brien, as is his custom, makes the band sound huge, bringing Fallon's distinctive vocals and Alex Rosamilia's massive lead guitar sound to the forefront, while leaving the talented rhythm section (Alex Levine on bass and Benny Horowitz on drums) to hold everything together. And surprisingly, despite the presence of Springsteen's producer in the studio,
Handwritten ends up being the first time that The Gaslight Anthem haven't sounded at all like a band living in the shadow of their idols. It's one thing to wear your influences on your sleeve and another to actually quote them directly, and while Fallon's tendency towards lyrical references has always been one of the most enjoyable quirks of his songwriting (he prominently borrowed from both Springsteen and Counting Crows, among others, on
The '59 Sound), his best songs have been the ones that have stood on their own. Luckily,
Handwritten is the sound of a band who have only gotten better and come further into their own with each passing release. This time around, the boys aren't just paying tribute to Springsteen, or sharing the stage with him: this time, they're challenging him.
When Springsteen dropped
Wrecking Ball earlier this year,
I proclaimed it a late-career masterpiece, called it his best work since the '80s, and wondered seriously whether any artist would be able to make an album as good all year. But right from my introductory listen of
Handwritten, right from the first time I pressed play and experienced this record, it was clear that The Gaslight Anthem had crafted something special. That was evident from first single and album opener "45," a propulsive hymn to the power of rock 'n' roll that burns with the energy of a hundred lesser acts. When the single dropped at the end of April, I almost immediately called it one of the band's best performances on record. O'Brien had captured everything that makes this band great, from the desperation in Fallon's voice to the classic rock swell that the band sits in so perfectly, and I figured that, if this song were the rule and not the exception, The Gaslight Anthem
could just have an album of the year on their hands. Luckily for me, "45" is actually one of the weaker tracks, igniting a perfect five song progression that kicks off the record and climaxes with the almost Oasis-esque "Keepsake." The song, which features a particularly scorching guitar line, courtesy of Rosamilia, sees Fallon opening up about his relationship with his father. Marked by one of the biggest and angriest choruses the band has ever penned, "Keepsake" shatters into a tremulous cascade of plucked strings at the break, giving listeners a brief respite before the chorus barrels back in.
In between, Fallon and his trio of band members deliver three of the best songs they've ever written. The title track revisits the nighttime themes that accentuated the best tracks on
The '59 Sound ("Here in the dark I cherish the moonlight/I'm in love with the way you're in love with the night," Fallon sings on one of the album's best lyrical couplets), while also lending it with some of the same darkness that surrounded Fallon's work with The Horrible Crowes. In addition, the song sheds a bit of light on the writing process behind the record. As the title suggests, Fallon scrawled the lyrics for these songs into a beat up old notebook, and the result is his most immediate and most personal collection to date. Want proof? Look no further than the transcendent highlight that is "Here Comes My Man," a rhythmically driving throwback to the girls groups of the 1960s and to Phil Spector's legendary "Wall of Sound" production technique. Springsteen has never been shy about his adoration for 1960s pop, especially girl groups like The Crystals and The Ronettes, and The Gaslight Anthem adopt that love as their own here. The song, told from the point of view of a female, offers an interesting lyrical direction reminiscent of the multiple gender-switching perspectives Jimmy Eat World employed on 2010's Invented. It also features an irresistible "sha la la" hook and one of Fallon's strongest vocal performances ever, two aspects that combine to make one of the summer's best should-be-hits: the Boss would be proud.
"Mulholland Drive" is almost as good, landing somewhere between '90s Counting Crows and
Sam's Town-era Killers, and building to a spiraling guitar hook that is nothing short of indelible. The grungy "Too Much Blood" is another time capsule from the '90s, and will likely be considered the album's centerpiece cut thanks to a 5 minute run-time. The ghost of Kurt Cobain and the shadow of Eddie Vedder drift through the song's anthemic chorus, its dirty guitar lines, and Fallon's anguished, near-shouted vocals. And while neither of the '90s alt-rock gods have ever been idols of mine, Fallon's attempt to channel them pays off, giving the album's middle section an epic grandiosity that has been lacking thus far. "Howl" changes directions yet again, coming in at just over two minutes, and delivering the kind of spontaneous, shout-along anthem that the fans of their punk days have been begging for. It's far from a highlight, but the song serves its purpose and would likely be brilliant in a live setting.
"Biloxi Parish" and "Desire" land the closest to the territory the band mined on
American Slang, with the former offering up a massive hook, and the latter, while probably the album's least distinctive number, still holding true to the impossibly high standard that Fallon and his band set early on with this record. But that bar is quite simply blown away with the final two tracks, as The Gaslight Anthem save the best songs on the disc (and arguably the best songs in their career, short of
The '59 Sound's epic closer "The Backseat") for last. First is "Mae," a flawless penultimate number with a gorgeous sonic sweep and a tearful lyrical drive that will undoubtedly land it near the top of my "songs of the year" list. "And still this city pumps its aching heart for one more drop of blood/We work our fingers down to dust/While we wait for kingdom come with the radio on," Fallon croons, giving himself over to song's emotional and sentimental nature. It's a ballad, through and through, a heart-on-your-sleeve, thoroughly moving piece of music that hits all the right marks and lands as one of the best things Fallon has ever done. And while the
Sink or Swim fans will likely cry "sell out" and beg for the punk edge that this band has long since shed, when "Mae" and its nostalgic guitar riff pour out of my speakers, I know that The Gaslight Anthem have reached a new level. When I hear this song, in the car on late summer nights, or through my headphones as I sit watching the sun go down and the season begin to dwindle, I know that I'm hearing something that truly matters.
"National Anthem" brings the record full-circle, ending it with a song that is both open-ended and resoundingly final. The spirit of
Darkness on the Edge of Town-era Springsteen is at work here, in the atmospheric acoustic guitar picking, in the lush and haunting strings, and certainly in Fallon's words. "I remember she used to look so good in that dress/Now she just screams how I promised her more than this," he sings at the song's key moment, channeling the weathered and regretful, yet still somehow resilient voice that Bruce so memorably adopted for the most harrowing cuts on his 1978 classic. And while Fallon steers clear of reference and imitation on
Handwritten (aside from the stellar bonus track "Blue Dahlia," which borrows a lyric from R.E.M.'s "Nightswimming"), his idols and influences are never far from the proceedings here. If
The '59 Sound was Fallon's
The Wild, The Innocent, The E-Street Shuffle, a rich tapestry of summer nights, pastime memories, carnival imagery, infinite youth, and lost heroes, and if
Elsie was his
Nebraska, then
Handwritten is unequivocally his
Darkness on the Edge of Town. It's his darkest, most personal, and most importantly, best album yet; it's a maze of fantastic hooks, soaring guitar lines, and personal confessions, both elated and anguished, and literally every time it ends, all I want to do is hit replay. I still think his
Born to Run is ahead of him, but for now, I am content in calling
Handwritten a bona fide masterpiece. It's the record I will remember as this year's summer soundtrack, the record that will encapsulate memories and moments from this season for as long as I continue to play it. It's also the best album of the year, edging out Springsteen himself, and for four New Jersey punks who have spent their lives and their careers chasing that impossible legacy, there can be no higher praise.
Fans of modern folk acts like Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver, and My Morning
Jacket, take note. Summer, Hither, a new EP from the Atlanta-based (and
amusingly named) Sleepy Turtles. Right from the first song, the
harmony-drenched title track, it's clear that these guys owe a lot to
similar bands who have blazed a similar trail in recent years. But while
their sound may not be terribly distinctive, it's still as appealing as
ever, and Summer, Hither, standing at a short-but-sweet five tracks
and twenty minutes, is a more than promising career-starter. The
harmonies prove to be the norm throughout the EP, surrounding frontman
Dylan Higgins' soft and welcoming croon with a sweet swell of sonic
bliss. The instrumentation adds another dimension, with softly strummed
acoustics, nostalgic banjo plucking, and occasional flourishes of
electric and steel guitar. Mostly though, Summer, Hither plays things
straight, offering up five quick (and stupendously enjoyable) tracks of
traditional folk that straddles the line between Americana and
Appalachian heritage.
