Review Summary: At the crossroads between concept and execution.
Here’s an idea: imagine a story where, years ago, the Earth was in a massive conflict with mythical creatures—zombies, werewolves, vampires, name it and it’s in the scuffle. Humanity succeeded in this conflict initially, but both sides came to realize that perhaps their differences were too great to reconcile. Using magical powers (explanations pending), a separate dimension was created, and the supposed monsters agreed to move into it and settle it. Centuries later and, to much surprise, the gate between these realms becomes damaged somehow. Now, humans and beasts are crossing boundaries they shouldn’t be able to. Our hero—call him Larry Totter—is caught in the middle upon encountering a werewolf, and is sucked into the creatures’ domain, along with his friend, Token Friend Character. Through a series of hijinks, they eventually team up with a family of vampires upon discovering a conspiracy to merge the two dimensions together. Totter and Pals (trademarking shortly) must uncover who is behind it, why Larry’s mom is somehow involved, what the heck this necromancer dude is doing—he commands the zombies and is
probably evil but there’s room for doubt! —what is this hairy, blue, bull-looking entity and why is it able to speak like a philosopher, and whether or not a traitor is in the midst of the vampire clan. I realize that I’m being a bit light on the details here, but understand that this is a rough concept; in the future, whatever cracks may be witnessed in the loose organization can be carefully filled in, definitions can be supplied, key players can be fleshed out, and so on. There’s a robust foundation to stem from at the very least.
Now, here’s a separate, somewhat related idea: imagine a band that, in its description, advertises itself as a noir-soaked, cabaret-influenced, alternative rock romp with a punk attitude. Presenting this ambitious premise are a supporting cast featuring a guitarist, keys contributor, violin, and viola. On paper, something so potentially unique is enticing; the rock swagger of Trophy Scars and the unpredictability of early Cursive jump to mind in anticipation. However, Sarah & the Safe Word forgot to fill in the audience on those important details, and the promising premise remains just that—a promise.
This is not to say the collective in question are devoid of intrigue, yet their approach to songwriting leaves much to be desired. When accessed in a vacuum, it’s evident that a track such as “The Last Great Sweetheart of the Grand Electric Rodeo” exhibits a rollicking, carefree nature that makes foot-tapping excitement unavoidable. Right out of the gate, the Atlanta sextet roars ahead fueled by a scratchy guitar riff, prominent string harmonies, and a playful rhythm that compliments the lighthearted lyricism. The tune easily rolls on forwards as the momentum pulses through the chorus and straight back in the verses. Although pausing briefly in the bridge, the number promptly reconstructs itself, barreling onwards into the refrain as stray screams bring the excitement to a memorable conclusion. Inside the context of the rest of
Good Gracious! Bad People., the luster of the entry fades; it may be a highlight, but its strengths diminish when the remaining duration of the 35-minute record liberally copies its template. The poppy verse-chorus-verse-chorus format dominates the runtime of the album without ever deviating from course. This methodology can be effective when buttressed by memorable choruses, a charismatic vocalist, and equally addicting instrumental demonstrations. For all its faults, a disc a la
Pretty. Odd. wears its bombastic, cheesy aesthetic with pride, flaunting about its joyous compositions, not a single reservation to be perceived. Any captivation that could be felt from “The Last Great Sweetheart” disappears as the LP quickly runs out of steam only three tracks deep into its existence.
Within the song structures Sarah & the Safe Word craft, there is usually little room for their eclectic instrumental inclusions to flourish. There are certainly always occupying a space in the production, but it’s common for the keys and the strings to do little to provide excitement. Part of the issue is that the guitars and the singing are often prominently placed in the mix, which inevitably places the more engaging aspects of the band’s sound into the background by default, or it unenthusiastically merges them into one amorphous wall of sound. This makes it difficult to ever distinguish the strings, and even when they can be deciphered, they’re rarely operating at any level above simplistic ebbs and flows. Innumerable songs become so forgettable that it causes over half of the album to drift. Starting with “A Celebration—With a Vengeance?!”, Sarah & friends go on autopilot. Despite briefly featuring a saxophone solo in its bridge, the tune cannot overcome its languid chorus and middling verses, the swelling of the strings barely audible. All the issues that plague that track return for the subsequent “Sick On Seventh Street.” Another curveball is thrown in the form of a cooperating female vocalist, but her appearance is overshadowed by tepid instrumentation that relies heavily on a typical piano passage. One particular dilemma that becomes apparent from these choice cuts is that rarely does the collective embark upon a crescendo or key shift come the conclusion of a song. It’s this sort of tactic that pop artists employ so that the ending of a song can shine, cementing its catchy quality by capping it off with an explosive finish. There are some entertaining solos that weasel into the interlude built into “Something Is Afoot On Old Man McGrady's River,” but the finale is nonexistent; the refrain is repeated ad nausea, not once transforming into something new. Having all these structural similarities and a consistent lack of climaxes consequently blends numbers together—no impact to speak of.
As aforementioned though, an extraordinary vocalist can elevate material that may not stand powerfully on its own. What is available to work with in terms of arrangements on
Good Gracious! may be dull, but a competent, enthralling singer could do wonders to at least put an iota of strength into choruses. Sarah Rose is unfortunately not the individual for the job. Hesitation is necessitated whenever a description of the efforts of a person are alleged to be as if they were never truly making an honest attempt, yet that remains the resounding sensation encountered by Rose’s performance on the record. There are examples, such as the previously outlined “Last Great Sweetheart,” where both singer and band combine adequately to erect a stable single, the vocalist sounding comfortable as they navigate through the tune. Even in this noteworthy piece, a listener can uncover the critical flaw Rose possesses: her range is too limited in its scope. The notes she delivers linger around a restricted alto space that is inflexible when it approaches a chorus. Making matters worse is the absence of variety in inflection; not only do the notes themselves maintain unwavering positions, but how exactly they’re uttered is correspondingly tepid. Introductory number “Welcome to Winterwood” showcases Rose at about her highest peak during the refrain. As theatrical as the song is, Rose sounds a step down from her bandmates. The trend endures on following formation “You’re All Scotch, No Soda,” which finds the singing department functioning below peers, the routine locked into place, immobile around every bend. This poorly supported, linear demeanor is certainly exposed during “Disobedient,” considering how Rose is forced to stand her own versus a guest vocalist. A hefty riff infuses a tangible boastfulness to the track—an attitude that Gerard D’Lor matches in their fleeting presence. Put against a singer that is supplying a curious, albeit enchanting performance, Sarah is unable to match the quality.
Since there’s no progression to identify in its individual songs, it becomes appropriate that the ending of
Good Gracious! is without any sense of oncoming termination. Externally, the record assures the audience that boundless wonders await, every track sparked by a flamboyant, classical, cheery crew that swing their instruments about with confidence and brashness. Internally, “The Bonnie Dell House” is a shocking emptiness that creeps from nowhere. Any pronounced troubles heard prior on the disc return to take their curtain call, stuffing in average compositions that elicit no better response from the band. It’s no different from a film or a story that knows how to sell itself well, adorning the cover with striking art and inundating the insert with evocative adjectives, but fails to live up to previews upon flipping through the chapters. That which contained potential is either relegated to the sidelines—the violin and the viola merely small rocks of a much larger, guitar-composed mountain—or never capitalized upon due to deficiencies in the Georgian gang’s songwriting. An album of this status has in its arsenal all the pieces required to release a product that could certainly stand out from the crowd. For one reason or another, Sarah & the Safe Word handicap themselves for their sophomore endeavor, and the result sounds more like a borrowed concept than it is an original. Without a single climactic moment reachable for citation, the LP is a chore to listen to, worth of remembrance as a lesson in how not to execute an enticing idea. It may behoove the sextet to reassess their configurations so that their big-band style can have suitable room to breathe; tune durations that seldom go beyond a mere three minutes and 15 seconds mark is a major concern for a group that might want to do more than the bare minimum. This current script is only worth the cutting room floor.
