Review Summary: All the music we loved long ago…
I’ve had no emotional attachment to Starbenders prior to listening to their newest album. They were just some band charitably recommended to me by YouTube Music algorithm some months ago. I liked some of their songs, but I also could clearly see their limitations. To be completely honest, the right word to describe my attitude towards the band was
condescending.
Among other things, these ladies were noticeably late to the party. By 2016, when the quartet released their first album, the whole “retro glam worship” thing was overpopulated and, frankly, beaten to death by Steel Panther and a slew of similar bands whose names I don’t care to remember. What exactly do you have on offer in this day and age, when even superstars like Ghost seem to be stuck in the eighties for several albums in a row, and the general public must be growing tired of that sound? Besides, I could see that while the girls certainly can write nice songs, they were never able to carry an entire album. All things considered, I had zero expectations from “The Beast Goes on.”
Well, as it turns out, this time Starbenders made what could be their only possible right move, which is to go over the top as much as humanly possible. From the very first seconds, we are hit with an absurdly catchy refrain delivered in a clear yet brazen fashion, and the album doesn’t really let up from there. It makes a foray into several genres along the way with varying degrees of success, and there are some not very subtle mood tweaks, but the general message is clear: this music is meant to be blasting out of huge loudspeakers during a big outdoors party while people are having fun and consuming copious amounts of beer or other alcoholic beverages of their choosing. The guitars are loud and brash, the choruses are Gargantuan, and the singer is full of youthful passion and panache. Say what you will, but this is an album where the guitar roams free, unrestrained and uncontested. Of course, keyboards are used sparingly throughout, and I believe there are even one or two callbacks to John Lord’s organ sound, but the only song where they take the reins is the obligatory ballad “Saturday.” Otherwise, it’s all about the guitar, be it the big dumb riffs or the sweet melodies that are plenty on this album. It feels like this time the band has a clear vision of the kind of sound they are aiming for, and the execution of that vision is nearly flawless.
For music like this, it is, of course, crucial to have the right singer, and Kimi Shelter delivers on that front. Her voice is powerful yet versatile, and her approach always fits the song. She can be cuteness incarnate like a J-pop singer, but her voice can also be gruff and gritty, and there’s that hint of rasp a la Joan Jett, which is crucial for her identity of an old-school rock singer. Oh, and even when she’s singing lyrics like “We sold our soul to rock and roll” or “Hello, goodbye, my Valentine,” you can feel that she means it. That’s one of the details that helped this album to win the heart of a guy like me, who normally hates all those retro bands with passion. When I try to listen to a band like Amaranthe, I just can’t shake off the feeling that I’m dealing with a manufactured commercial product in the guise of a musical album, whereas the music on offer here does not feel artificial and contrived at all. And the best thing about such simple yet well-done music is that if you’re able to get into it, you are enjoying it on a very visceral, instinctive level. Listening to this, I feel what my cat must feel when he successfully intercepts a ball that I threw at him or grabs my hand with his paws and bites into it. Sheer, unfiltered joy.
Criticism, yes, some criticism is in order. Well, thirteen tracks and 45 minutes of runtime are obviously too much for an album like that. At the same time, I can’t say that the album is unbalanced or front-loaded; I’d just trim a couple of songs here and there. And of course, I could live without that Green Day cover. Overall, if you are in the mood for something more sophisticated or the very word “glam” or “pop” makes your ears bleed, you should absolutely pass on this album. Otherwise, give it a try, and maybe the sixteen-year-old child in you will be pleased.
Me? Ah well, a couple of weeks ago I randomly went to a classical flute concert, and today I am enjoying the hell out of a silly glam rock album, what are you gonna do…
