Girls - Father, Son, HolyGhost

Fri 16th Sep, 2011 in Music Reviews

After two brilliant releases in the form of 2009’s Album and last year’s Broken Dreams Club EP, San Francisco’s favourite surf-pop duo Girls have returned with Father, Son, Holy Ghost, a record that sees enigmatic frontman Christopher Owens at his most deeply emotional, baring his heartbroken soul with an endearing earnestness and presenting it in the form of a palatable collection of tracks sure to go down a treat with fans both old and new. While the duo’s ‘other’ member, Chet “JR” White has increasingly become a peripheral figure simply due to the intense and deeply personal focus of these songs and their inextricable, direct connection to Owens, he contributes ably in an instrumental sense and helps Owens’ tales to truly flourish.

Opener ‘Hunny Bunny’ kicks things off with a Dick Dale-esque riff and a delicate falsetto vocal from Owens, a combination that has become instantly recognisable as a quintessentially Girls sound. Featuring the requisite Owens self-doubt and sly narcotic reference (‘They don’t like my bony body/They don’t like my dirty hair/Or the stuff that I say/Or the stuff that I’m on’), the track serves as a reminder of why we came to adore the band in the first place, harking back to the disarmingly honest admissions that made Album so brilliant. The magnificent ‘Alex’ is one of the record’s highlights, opening with a riff reminiscent of The Whip’s ‘Sirens’ and showcasing lyrics that on the surface seem callous but are given new layers of meaning through Owens’ richly evocative delivery (‘If somebody somewhere dies, well who cares? No you don’t’). The track’s ambiguity in terms of gender and sexual orientation allows it to be shrouded in a thin haze of Brett Anderson-channelling mystique, which merely adds to its allure.

The rollicking, primarily-instrumental ‘Die’ is a fuzzy 60s jam that recalls Cream, Hendrix and Zeppelin at various points with an immense wave of wah-laden guitars and propulsive drums. After culminating in Owens’ musings, which evoke a distinctly apocalyptic atmosphere (‘We’re all gonna die!’), things slow down and the track progresses into a psychedelic instrumental ballad reminiscent of The Vines’ ‘Spaceship’. ‘Saying I Love You’ initially comes off as tame, somewhat insipid country rock through its decidedly simplistic lyrics (‘I hear you crying now, what can I do?/You threw my heart away, you made me blue’) and derivative chord progression, but is definitely a grower. While almost anywhere else, these lyrics would come off as contrived, Owens’ vulnerability and sincerity makes you believe every word he says. The despairing ‘My Ma’ recycles a traditional C Am Em G chord progression but manages to package it into a heart wrenching, pure pop song, with Owens at his most downcast and yearning as he confides ‘Oh God, I’m so lost/And I’m here in darkness/And I want to see the light of love/I’m looking for meaning in my life’).

While Album was effectively structured around ‘Hellhole Ratrace’ as a centrepiece, Father, Son, Holy Ghost contains three such zeniths – the first of which is ‘Vomit’, a stadium-sized, anthemic piece that simmers darkly before exploding into a discordant, Sonic Youth-esque guitar freakout and then a gospel epiphany where Owens pleads ‘Come into my heart’, backed with a church choir, female soul backing vocals and an effervescent organ. The second comes directly afterwards – ‘Just A Song’ begins with a solitary, melancholic ukulele before a heartbroken Owens croons ‘It just feels like it’s gone away/Seems like nobody’s happy now’. In almost a two-part fashion, the song is reborn at the halfway mark and comes back threatening to become a colossus reminiscent of Oasis’ ‘All Around The World’, but stopping short of any form of catharsis, with Owens simply repeating the phrase ‘Love, it’s just a song’. The upbeat ‘Magic’, a romantic pop song in the most traditional sense, is the most positive moment on the record, if not in the band’s discography, with a liberated Owens rejoicing ‘You’ve chased my fears away/That’s why I’m sticking with you/Nobody makes me feel better’.

After that brief moment of ebullience, it’s high time for another heartstring-pulling epic, this time in the form of the 8-minute ‘Forgiveness’, the record’s biggest moment. After only three releases, and with tracks like ‘Hellhole Ratrace’, ‘Carolina’ and this record’s ‘Vomit’ and ‘Just A Song’ already to their name, the band have already well-proven their ability to write vast, slow-building tracks to a magnificent level of proficiency. As a result, the sheer monumental nature of ‘Forgiveness’ comes as no surprise. What makes it so massive is not endless layers of sound or exceedingly loud squalls of noise, but conversely the sparseness with which it is executed and the way it languidly unfurls and meanders throughout its duration. Beginning as a minimalist arrangement consisting merely of a softly strummed acoustic guitar, an electric piano and Owens’ fragile delivery, the track ultimately culminates in a piercing lead guitar line, cavernous drums and backwards-looping samples towards the track’s closure.

‘Love Like A River’, though sounding like an immense juxtaposition in its relaxed execution, seems like a perfectly logical progression, its country-tinged guitars, gospel organs and soul-infused harmonies evoking images of the American Midwest, while Owens channels Stevie Wonder in his delivery of the chorus (‘And don’t you know I’d hold you/If I could find a way/If I could only catch you/If only you would stay’). ‘Jamie Marie’, ostensibly something of a sequel to Album’s similarly-titled ‘Lauren Marie’, closes the record wistfully, its minimal arrangement providing a canvas for Owens to bare his soul (‘I know I never noticed then/Just what it was I had/Up until I lost you/And man did I lose you/Ain’t that the way it always goes?’). The gospel organ that has become something of a recurring motif throughout the record pops up once again to close the record on a melancholic and subdued note, the final lines being ‘I miss the way my life was/When you were my girl’.

The pairing of Owens’ lyrics and vocal delivery is as strong as ever on Father, Son, Holy Ghost, and he is justifiably placed at the forefront throughout – in fact, the lyrics are given such importance that they are featured in full as the record’s cover art. Without any disrespect whatsoever to White, this could quite easily be a solo record, such is its emotive, confessional feel. But this is what we have come to expect from Girls – what is most striking here is how good it actually sounds. Enveloped with the immaculately authentic warmth of a vintage pop record, the songs here are given permission to blossom and Owens’ songwriting is allowed to reach its full potential. While nothing the band do will ever quite match Album – and to be frank, few bands have or will – Father, Son, Holy Ghost is one of those rare records that allows you to immerse yourself within it and develop a powerful personal connection to it. In this day and age of disposable, meaningless trash dominating the charts, that is the mark of true success.