The Best Thing I Heard This Week-Girls

The best thing I heard this week is a record that is old and new, something we've all heard before but that still feels fresh. Girls’ Father, Son, Holy Ghost is unabashedly derivative, but extremely well done. All over the record are 60s and 70s landmarks, from Pink Floyd to Big Star to Otis Redding. Somehow, Girls manages to make the whole thing sound comfortably familiar yet different enough to be worth repeated listens.

I want to work with singer Christopher Owens on his song titles. Two of my favorite tracks on this record are called “Honey Bunny” and “Vomit,” and the issue is that when you’re trying to get a friend to listen to some songs you like, those titles make it about twice as hard ("Hey, check out this song." "What's it called?" "Um...Vomit.") Make no mistake though, “Honey Bunny” is awesome. It’s 70s guitar rock, and owes much to acts like Big Star. That’s the old. The new is the clever self-consciousness and humorous self-deprication in the song: “I’ve been messing / with so many girls / who could give a damn / about who I am / they don’t like my bony body / they don’t like my curly hair / or the stuff that I say / or the stuff that I’m on."



I may never get anyone to listen to it, but “Vomit” is a great song as well. It starts off sounding a bit like Built to Spill circa Perfect From Now On. It ends up, after a few minutes, transitioning into a Pink Floyd-esque druggy rocker, replete with the bellowing accompanying female vocalist and some lovely organ work. Funniest internet comment I read this week, under the Girls “Vomit” video: “not the first time i’ve searched for girls vomit on youtube [sic].”



There are also tracks on this record that don’t have awful song titles. “My Ma” is a touching ballad that evokes the Moondoggies and Wilco and maybe Band of Horses back when they were good, a few bands who owe much to 70s titans (listen to the organ and the guitar). “Magic” could have been a Buddy Holly song with its strolling pace and lyrical emphases (“Just a look was all it took / suddenly I’m on the hook / it’s ma-ha-ha-gic”).



Girls' songs have an endearing and innocent honesty about them. “Alex” is a forlorn love song, it reminds me a lot of the Shins, except Owens is less oblique, thinly veiling his jealousy until it comes loose in the fourth verse (“Alex has blue eyes / well who cares? / No I don’t...Alex has black hair / well who cares? / well I do...and Alex has a boyfriend / oh well / I’m in hell”):



I realize that it’s not enough to say that a new record sounds like something that was good (and I could keep going here: “Love Like a River” could easily be an Otis Redding song), that record must also bring something to the table. Luckily, Father, Son, Holy Ghost does that, and does it well. Christopher Owens has a great voice--a more velvety and less nasal Jeff Tweedy. His songwriting is earnest and funny in a tragic sort of way. The record has a smart tempo, mixing shorter poppy tunes with longer, slow-burning rockers. So while we've heard it all before, it's still worth another listen.