Think back to the first time you heard a Blink-182 song in which "the other guy" sang lead vocals. Yeah, you know the one I mean; Tom, the guitar player whose whiny crooning sounds like the overweight owner of a Geo Metro putting the hurt on some worn-out brake pads. Distil that disappointment and you'll be looking at a bottle of the same syrup I extracted from multiple plays of End The Measured Mile, the new full length from Philo Beddow, which fails to fulfill the promise of its palindromic total play length of 45:54. More on Tom to follow.
This NYC foursome's press sheet hails them as the creators of "super-dynamic-ultra-textured -crazy-mixed-up-stuff-'n'-junk". Hmmm. While the collection of tracks on End The Measured Mile is an ahem diverse collection of songs, they are far more "mixed up" than "dynamic." Bands who succeed at melding genres, be it 'The Postal Service' with their electronica and indie rock, or 'The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion' with their blues and their explosions, do so based on their ability to consistently create songs which incorporate multiple elements into a new yet cohesive whole.
In other words they create some kind of new sound, in a larger sense of the word. They do not merely write a bunch of songs in different styles and then throw them together on an album and call it diverse. You can do that; goodness knows in some ways Havalina Rail Co. made a living at it. But you can't do it unless you do it well. Philo Beddow do not do it well.
Their songs are all over the place. Dyslexic emoish numbers featuring meandering open chord pick patterns circa late 90's Get-Up Kids but without the relevance. That's not new anymore and the melody lines the guitars are wandering toward are weak or non-existent anyway. Then there's this whole "hardcore" thing they're trying to do, comprised of someone yelling in the toned down but still vaguely harsh style that says "I'm playing a show with all emo bands and we sound harsher than them so look at me; and I'm wearing red bikini briefs." All that over chords that sound like they were stolen from the back of a parked Staind tour bus.
And finally we have songs that try for good vocal melodies but fall short. They might indeed stick in your head if not for the fact that they're never really driven home to completion. Lark is a notable exception, with a delivery that scrapes together some passion and somewhat satiates the listener's by now starved desire for resolution, coming as it does late in the album (8th of 10 tracks). But who do we have to thank for this oasis (because things get lame again with the next track 'Practice Test')?
Re-enter Tom DeLonge, the less blessed half of the Blink-182 duet. Now, Tom can't sing. Having one singer who is good and one isn't in the same band is a problem if you're trying to garner a fan base. Blink miraculously overcame that, (or didn't depending on your view). Philo Beddow features as it's dueling pair of warblers a set of brothers, William and Wayne Faler.
Unfortunately, the album sleeve does not differentiate between who sings on what songs, simply listing the brothers in the responsibilities section as both being in charge of "guitar and vocals". At least Tom's voice is distinct enough that we can immediately tell when he comes on and hit the forward arrow on our cd player. The problem is not so easily solved with Philo Beddow. The brothers Faler were bestowed with voices too similar to be easily distinguishable. And yet distinguishable they are. Whoever is singing on Lark for example is the better brother. I just don't know who that is. He needs to take over all the singing. The whole dilemma is of course indicative of the band's larger problem, that their songs just aren't that good.
Just as Odysseus might have been, Philo Beddow would be well served by the admonition, "choose a direction." There's a dim potential here, but it is nowhere near a vision yet and lies buried deep beneath a hard crust of terrible genre-confusing and patchwork songwriting.
Whatever you do don't just stand there guys. Do something.
1.5/4
