The BridgeLetter KillsIsland RecordsThree out of five stars
Letter Kills’ debut album, The Bridge, wields an octane-pumping, cylinder-beating mechanical heart of hooks laden with catwalk rock and it’s ready to sink its teeth into the dormant corpse of “alternative format” rock radio.
Sadly, major-label overproduction proves that this heart, while functional, is artificial. And we all know what happens to people with artificial heart implants?
They usually die early.
Long gone are the days when stage aesthetics and spotlight-stealing solos could win over teenage hearts. Letter Kills seems to know this, but at least they don’t give a damn.
The Bridge possesses a rogue rock and roll spirit that’s been on the lam ever since hard-rockers like AC/DC and Guns and Roses gave up their reprobate ghosts. Letter Kills doesn’t limit itself to traditional cock-rock trappings though. Fusing their lust for rock glory with an affinity for Swedish Metal Gods In Flames and folk icons Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan, these California boys have created a unique sound within a scene plagued by fatal unanimity.
It seems the only force able to bridle Letter Kills’ rock and roll swagger is the major label curse of overproduction. Helmed by frat rock production maestro Jim Wirt, the culprit behind such sonic travesties as Trapt and Hoobastank, The Bridge often sacrifices necessary grunge grit for pop glamour.
The album’s opening track, “Light’s Out,” is christened with a scream that could wake the dead and scare them right back into the afterlife.
Sadly the lights do go out on this maniacal angst as Shelton slips into a production-polished refrain, somehow too saccharine for even the most sugary pop appeal.
Letter Kills’ dangerous dichotomy of punk rock and roll fury and awe-inspiring pop hook-straddles a tightrope between mind-snaring harmony and tooth-rotting pop rubbish. Driving punk anthems such as “Don’t Believe,” “Brand New Man,” and “Carry You” land safely on the catchy side, but when the radio rock tendencies overpower, their victims-tracks such as “Radio Up”-fall perilously into the depths of mass-produced mainstream pablum.
To the rescue, the dueling guitars of Timothy Cordova and Dustin Lovelis cut straight through the suffocating pop schmaltz. Channeling the spirit of Angus Young at his most punishing and sober, the rock and roll riffing of The Bridge sets it apart from a mainstream that has forsaken the role of the lead guitarist-to lead.
The glimpses of hope that radiate through the bars of The Bridge’s burdening over-production forces one to wonder whether Letter Kills could truly mark the dawning of a new era of rock and roll. Probably not-sadly, the major music industry has them locked up for three albums to life with no hope for parole. If set free, who knows what could be happen?
For the sake of rock and roll, someone send Letter Kills a nail file cake.
Dan Fletcher