Review Summary: Multi-cultural-lingual-genre NYC trio drops their third proper LP, and with the loss of an integral member it is pleasant to see them churn out some seriously good tracks -- downside though, is how much is still filler.
So let us begin this by saying straight off, no Brazilian Girls are not a band composed of a collection of women, nor do they hail from their namesake nation, they’re in fact, from Brooklyn. Though possessing a sound that is the least to say,
worldly, and fronted by a woman with enough gusto to count for an entire throng of ladies, it is hard for the name not to fit once you’ve actually heard their music. For two albums now Sabina Sciubba and fellow Brazilians Didi Gutman & Aaron Johnston proved just how adept they were at throwing together reggae drums, house beats, punk guitar, tango horns and a global aesthetic all collectively anchored by the luscious, not to mention multi-lingual, velvet croon of Sabina. Her skill at balancing the diverse backing instrumentation with the sincerity of her touching ballads and kitsch lyrics with playful electro-pop is all in the delivery. Sciubba preferring the purr of a lounge vixen, or a laidback Gainsbourg rap, maybe a earthy growl, she‘s quite the unique musical persona. This enables her to expertly traverse the weary path between the hushed instrumentation and timid writing of the debut’s “Me Gustas Cuando Callas” from the stadium-sized
"pussy, pussy, pussy, marijuana" chorus that just shortly proceeded it. She does it with as just much heart and sincerity not to mention a maniacal twinkle in her eye. Which is a fitting helm for the candy-flipper bossa nova rave from hell Gutman and Johnston are laying down behind her. Their third LP and follow-up to the 1-2 punch that is their Latin infused self-titled debut, and sophomore blast of a mind-***
Talk To La Bomb, tries to be as culturally diverse and exciting as the city it’s titled after. Sadly, missteps here and there, that involve excessive amounts of just plain old rehashed song writing unfortunately weigh down what is otherwise a very, very good album.
To call Brazilian Girls multi-lingual is an understatement. Sciubba speaks English, Spanish, German, French, Japanese, Italian and Portuguese, and is liable to incorporate them into an entire song, let alone album. Coupled with the fact that Gutman & Johnston do all they can to infuse a slice of tunage from nearly every continent, the diversity and freshness of Brazilian Girls’ music was always something of a treat to their sound. Especially considering that now ex-bassist Jesse Murphy was such an integral part of their bass heavy music, it is good to see
New York City providing that same pleasant crispness once more. Never one to be pigeon holed, the Girls’ third LP is chock full of big horns, tango and salsa influences mixed with NYC Electro-punk, European Twee, with echoes of Fleetwood Mac, Joni Mitchell, first gen Pet Shop Boys and the aforementioned Gainsbourg. “Berlin’s” glorious vaudeville horns, or the groovy synths and heated bass lines of “Good Time” all the way to the most infectious whistle this side of “Young Folks” on opener “St. Petersburg”, the album has got it’s fun. Even the cavernous “I Want Out” and delicate “L‘Interprete” display the softer, beautiful side of the band at it‘s finest. The latter providing Sabina’s best performance on the album, and arguably of her career. Its just a shame that the other half of the album doesn’t always amount to much more than really good filler.
This tendency of theirs, to be such an incorporating band when it comes to pretty much any sound they hear, generally played as a strength. Most of the time, the world-wide aspect of their music gave them a certain excitement, a natural air about them that expressed a sense of understanding when it came to balancing culture with purpose. Never overstepping their boundaries into a genre, using just as much as they needed to get the point across, or add a certain flair to a song. Worst thing about
New York City though, is just how stale they now sound some times. “Strangeboy” and “Noveau Americain” start up much in the usual foreboding, metallic way their darker songs do, but unlike “Die Gedanken Sind Frei (Thoughts Are Free)” or “La Territoire” they never build to anything enjoyable, forsaking any and all attempts at a hook. Strange really, considering that “Internacional,” “Losing Myself” and “Ricardo” barely save themselves from inducing ‘skip’ use every time the chorus finally picks up again. Each of these remaining songs, while never
bad really, also aren’t very good, especially when they sound so alike to many better songs in their catalog. For every underwhelming “Internacional” there’s an infectious “La Territoire” or “Don’t Stop,” for your “Ricardo” ills, there’s always a “Never Met a German” cure. While “Mano De Dios” just sounds like a poor man’s version of “Ships In The Night,” just sung in few choice Spanish words this time. Which is the main issue with
New York City really, and what holds it back from certain greatness -- the band just does not seem to know where to go anymore. They look towards home for inspiration, and considering where
home is, one would expect a good return from that bet. Sadly though, it may be time for these Brazilian Girls to pack their things, and hit the next red eye out of the Big Apple, to less comfortable shores. Question though, becomes -- where would they
really be uncomfortable?
