Review Summary: You can't blame the band for making such a terrible album. LaLonde was too busy raking leaves.
Born Ruffians have balls to do this. No, their sophomore album,
Say It, is not an outlandish piece of music; in fact, almost everything that's been done here has been done before by far superior artists. But, it
is one that centers around the most puerile problems, both musically and lyrically. When examining songs like "Sole Brother" this fact becomes evident, as Luke LaLonde wishes that his sister was dead for the simple fact that his seventy-seven-year-old grandfather asked him (and not his sister) to do some of the most impossible things, which center around what else but yard work? Yes, that's right, LaLonde has either completely failed at some sort of maniacal brand of ironic humor (because death is so funny, guys) or he's just
that immature. I know seven-year-old boys who deal with their sisters in better ways than this whole "I wish you were dead" routine. But, in that spirit, a lot of these seven-year-old boys could probably write better songs, too.
On
Say It LaLonde has taken the liberty of destroying what little potential the band's melodious sound had with his vocals. On this album he's not only pitchy, but he alternates between deplorable squeaks (imagine if Anthony Green actually hit puberty at one point, but he still tried to sing higher than Mariah Carey) and warbled attempts at a baritone register. On "Sole Brother" he yelps and whines away, completely destroying any potential the minimalist funk rhythms had in the first place. And better yet, Hamelin gets a spot on the song, offering no disparity to the vocal department with a fluctuating falsetto. On "Retard Canard," the vocals are spat out as fast as humanly possible, until LaLonde suddenly remembers that sometimes slower parts are not
that bad, unless of course you've run out of breath by then, and after every three syllables, you have to gasp. So by then, LaLonde is not only completely grating, but he's off-time as well. Who's to complain though, when Hamelin is just as big of an offender?
Yes, the drummer of all people is unable to keep a steady-beat, which in turn throws everyone else off. For the majority of
Say It his job isn't to keep the beat per se; he just travels a path of his own and sticks out like a sore thumb. Half the time his technique spurns any sort of rhythm, and his technique redefines the term "loose." It's rare to see him even make an effort, but when he does, he proves unable to perform even at the simplest of levels. Keep in mind that the guitar lines are usually inappropriate takes on artsy-fartsy new wave, and the instrumental aspects of
Say It are no better than the vocal offenses. One needs to look no further than the anarchic "Higher & Higher" to see all these elements at their worst, but many tracks come close to being equally unsatisfying. For the most part, the band's attempts at transethnic art-pop have no discernible structure, but it's still easy to see the David Byrne plagiarism throughout the entire album (particularly this track). There's only one case where these components have any sort of appeal to them ("Blood, the Sun & Water), but it comes too little, too late. But in retrospect, you can't blame the band for making such a terrible album. LaLonde was too busy raking leaves.
