Review Summary: Where do you go when you've already made it?
In a rather blunt review from 2004, PopMatters writer Richard Williams proclaimed that Lovedrug had already achieved a state of near-perfection on
Pretend You’re Alive. Put simply, Williams claimed that they started with their best foot forward too early, guaranteeing that any step taken afterwards would inevitably be a disappointment. Although the assuredness with which this statement is made makes it appear arrogant—it’s very premature to declare the demise of a band only one album deep in their career—the point underneath is worth addressing: a strong debut is difficult to answer. A vast majority of artists begin their existence as a collective with deficiencies in their output; there could be numerous production issues due to a low budget, songwriting way be weak in certain aspects, the list goes on. Generally, a group is at least capable of demonstrating that X-factor of
potential, which is a reviewer’s buzzword to describe a record that isn’t quite on the level of excellent or exceptionally noteworthy, but there lies a promise of future triumph if some fine-tuning is engaged.
There isn’t exactly a road map available when, according to casual listeners and critics alike, you’ve already reached the destination.
Such was the dilemma facing Lovedrug in the wake of their introductory effort. With a carefully-constructed tonal contradiction, the intrepid band elevated their alternative/indie rock style to greater praise, its sturdy pop-leaning sensibilities buttressed by addicting guitar work, methodical percussion, an infectiously groovy bass, and a charismatic vocal performance that impeccably captured the relatively heavy lyrical content. This amount of talent was incredibly enjoyable to witness on display. Yet, with so much already achieved and a mass of onlookers lauding compliments, it’s easy to imagine the path ahead was severely obscured. A carbon copy of the successful formula could be issued, though doing so would undoubtedly cheapen the value of
Pretend in retrospect. The only conceivable route to progress to, therefore, was a kind of transformation or a departure from the comfortable, efficacious familiar. A sophomore answer wouldn’t have to involve the complete destruction of the foundation—no need to rebuild when the fundamentals are solid enough—but it was undeniable that the direction or the precise execution of those fundamentals required modification.
The resounding rejoinder,
Everything Starts Where it Ends, made it abundantly clear that Lovedrug still had plenty to offer the music industry. Instead of a delicate atmosphere of dejection, however, everything—the choruses, the hooks, the melodies, the emotions—were being kicked into overdrive.
As drastic as that premise may sound, there is no need to fret over whether or not the collective abandoned their roots. What occurred instead was an augmentation of the debut disc. The greatest change immediately detected on the opening number “Happy Apple Poison” is that, for better or worse, this dedication to alteration has pushed Lovedrug into the waters of alternative rock romps that are much more heavily dictated by pop rock variables. Production quality has become silky smooth and the guitars now sport a new coat of polish. Meanwhile, the verse-chorus-verse-chorus formula dominates in a manner not observed on
Pretend where tracks could wander off in their climaxes instead of featuring an additional refrain, their looser nature feeling less limited by an overarching structure. The pitfalls of these characteristics fail to appear; the group translates their proven songwriting expertise seamlessly into this novel environment. Once “Happy Apple Poison” unravels, the audience is left with their doubts dismantled, as everything that made the group’s sonic identity alluring remains. Gentle strumming introduces the tune as the trademark groovy bass emerges underneath. Michael Shepard’s unique, fascinating vocals are featured prominently on the frontlines, his distinct nasal delivery and varied expression readily gliding through the dominant melody. This culminates in a bombastic chorus heavily grounded in the anthemic aesthetic sported by alternative rock contemporaries of the time. The guitars suddenly explode amongst the crash of the percussion kit, Shepard rising in volume to match this newfound intensity, confidently calling out the refrain to solidify its addictive nature. The accompanying lyrics—a relationship destined to occur but simultaneously being assured to fail—establishes that as much as things change, the more they stay true to form; the despair and other extreme emotions of Lovedrug have stubbornly persisted, and now rampage through the disc.
What follows afterwards can essentially be summarized as Lovedrug’s approach to pop-infused outfits while refusing to cut corners on their overall character as a band. The result is a collection of uncannily memorable constructions that continue to exhibit a knack for gripping arrangements not often visible in the genre, especially when bent to a comparatively more straightforward route. On their surface level, the tracks are chock-full of glimmering melodies that instantly pull the audience in. Once ensnared by the powerful leads, the group’s omnipresent bass—arguably the integral element of many of Lovedrug’s forays—sneaks in with its infectious grooves. Aforementioned introductory creation “Happy Apple Posion” accomplishes this quickly in gradually building up to its climactic chorus. One of the greatest examples of this combination at work is encountered in the all-out rock affair “Bleed Together.” After a resounding guitar harmony forcefully enters, the song heads off in its bouncing mid-tempo gait, the enduring growl of the bass guiding the tune as Shepard takes control and adds the finishing touch, even supplying a rare harsh edge on the explosive chorus. Whereas this formation succeeds in its dance-worthy rhythm, “American Swimming Lesson” proves compelling for its pummeling central melody. The guitars sound fiercer here than elsewhere on the album, their surprisingly deadly assault pounding throughout the progression of the track as static, the bass, and a light electronic component snarl in the background of the verses. After a haunting bridge where Shepard supplies a sinister falsetto for the vocal harmony, the song takes on a despondent air as it marches to its conclusion, the droning nature of the instrumentals complimenting the distant singing that is cloaked behind the wall of noise. When it comes to searching for accessible, head-banging-inducing enjoyment,
Everything Starts Where it Ends is definitely capable of providing such an escape.
For a casual listener, a connection made on this level would be sufficient enough to craft an excellent record. Maintaining an admirable attention to detail allows the entries on this release to flourish due to their enhanced depth. The key difference here, as noted previously, is that the layers are peeled away much easier, as Lovedrug opt to wear their hearts on their sleeves; depression, anxiety, spite, anger—the whole package of negative sensations—are dragged into the spotlight, every number shifting mood appropriately to represent the desired atmosphere. These ensuing offerings occupy their emotional limit and rarely let restraint contain them, simultaneously preserving a pop organization that belies the underlying seriousness of the content. On second track “Pushing the Shine,” for instance, an ominous riff prevails, its more threatening nature assisting in providing the track’s chorus a palpable punch. From the onset of the first guitar note, it becomes glaringly obvious to the listener that the group is opting for a total confrontation rather than concealing their intentions; Lovedrug is pissed off and wants everyone to know it. Beyond the more overt offerings presented on the album, there are a handful of reserved, ballad-esque numbers that showcase the variability of the band’s sound. The piano is briefly inserted in these comparatively quitter moments in order to capture the full vision of the emotion on display. Although it is forthright and very unambiguous in tone, “Thieving” is an absurdly pretty love-themed creation. A delicate keys performance gently urges the song forward, subtle orchestration samples being sparingly employed in the background, their radiant output ebbing and flowing in the refrain and the verses. Similarly, in the slow burner “Doomsday & the Echo,” the piano is a core component of the tune, its distinctive tone serving as the central melody, their graceful chime made somber by the despairing twang of the guitars.
The cynical, misery-motivated lyricism drives the overarching theme of every song home. In order to match the exaggerated disposition of the entirety of
Everything…, Shepard hones his pen game and manages to take his already eclectic vocal performance to another level of expression. Although the occasional bellowing high notes are less common, the disparities generated between the included songs are amazing to behold; the frontman is undoubtedly functioning at his pinnacle of ability, restrained efforts intermixed with more emotive presentations. Here again does “Pushing the Shine” stand out from the crowd, as Shepard adopts a threatening, almost gloating sort of tone to fit the content of the track—suffering from a depressive episode and, in a fit of misguided anger it, forcing it upon others. On the opposite end of the spectrum is the much more fragile display delivered on “Doomsday & the Echo.” Considering its status as one of the more despairing numbers on the record, Shepard allows for the melancholy to slip into his vocal performance, the falsetto tone applied in the chorus sounding hopeless in the face of a downward spiral. The miserable lyrics of “Just woke up and already I’m losing / Messed up everything again / Drink up, pass the gun again” are given an appropriate sense of resignation. When not pursuing these more extremely emotional entries, the frontman retains his ability to approach a more pop-influenced venture and apply a sense of swagger and confidence that immediately captivates the listener. Among the greatest instances of this at work is album highlight “Bleed Together.” Already supported by its aforementioned prevailing groove, the tune’s strength is amped up by the singer’s graceful maneuvering through the verses. The entrance of “If you wanna come in / You'll have to stretch my skin / If you wanna survive with those beautiful eyes / You'll have to give in” is one of Shepard’s best, his strong opening instantly establishing the mood of the track: A relationship founded upon irreconcilable interests despite a consistent sense of attraction—the conflict between the bridge of “You know I want you / You know I need you” and the chorus of “You’ve got it wrong / This isn’t right / There's something beautiful that hasn't yet died.” It is yet another powerful juxtaposition that Lovedrug executes with ease, cementing the song as a certified earworm.
At the very heart of this particular album, underneath the extremes, is an initiative that would never be expected out of Lovedrug in the context of their previous work. For the first time, the cooperative endeavors to alleviate the onslaught of the despair that all too often permeates individual tracks, prompting compulsive introspection, self-doubt, and other negative thoughts abound in the downward spiral. In doing so, all creative efforts are pooled into the epic, nearly 8-minute title track which concludes the release. It is critical to note that there was certainly groundwork leading to this momentous track, with the key elements taking the form of the uplifting “Castling” and the similarly grand scale of “Salt of the Earth.” Whereas the former gleefully bounds along in its heartfelt message of persevering through negativity, triumphing over trouble while accepting oneself, the latter is a massive, foreboding output crafted in a manner never witnessed from the group. The echoes of stomping and an actual chain announce the ominous tune, the distinct rattling matching the darkened tonality of the piano that joins soon after, each note resonating throughout the dire landscape illustrated by the instruments. An eerie guitar riff, its timbre akin to a decaying siren, joins the fray before being replaced by gentle acoustic strumming in the chorus. In the second half of the formation, the song is deconstructed into only the piano and the acoustic contributions, with the final minutes being utilized to rebuild the sonic environment created prior. The growing volume of the overarching guitar melody, combined with Shepard’s faint vocals drifting in the background and string sampling, reaches a peak before being swept away by the return of the chain. Not only is it one of the longer songs in Lovedrug’s discography, but it so perfectly encapsulates an apocalyptic, despairing feel through a technique they had not already tried.
Finishing the sophomore effort with its eponymous track therefore feels earned rather than contrived—the stereotypical ‘the last song is the longest’ trope. There is something both surprising and gorgeous about Lovedrug, who had just made a name for themselves in propagating absolute sadness, realizing a transition to something hopeful. Buttressed by Shepard’s restrained vocals, the melancholic piano and further acoustic thrumming, the song ebbs forward gently. In a section of quiet reflection, Shepard begins to lament—"When nobody wants you in their life”—before taking a sudden turn towards moving on from the trauma expressed in the lyrics, uttering “It’s gonna be alright” as pounding percussion and the clash of the guitars take control, string components rising behind the assault. Amidst rousing instrumentation, the vocals silently call out the repeated phrase of “Wake up, you're alive / We're on your side.” It is here that the thesis of
Everything Starts Where it Ends is realized in full; this is a culmination of all the group strived to create in response to their debut. Although there are similarities abound, there was no fear of trying to branch out, exploring new avenues of expression without compromising the identity of the brand in the process. There are certainly cuts off of the record that feature a more accessible sound that is tailored to immediate memorability, any hidden meaning brought to the surface. This particular methodology only serves to highlight the songwriting strengths of the group, which is as robust as ever; each member contributes greatly to the effort at hand. Beyond these ventures are numbers that are incredibly ambitious in scope. It was, all told, a surefire sign that Lovedrug were not prepared to fade off into obscurity. It is the relative calm after the storm that was
Pretend. The most important takeaway to obtain remains the fact that, despite all changes, the compositional and emotional brilliance of the crew was firmly intact—this time, with a smile.
