Cold War Kids – Hold My Home

Strip Club Music

Cold War Kids have always been a bit of a middling band, not quite pop, not quite indie rock, not great and not bad. When listening to them, you get the impression that, despite the confidence (sometimes bordering on arrogance) evident in their music, they’re not really sure which musical world they really fit in. With their new album, Hold My Home, the band has chosen a side. The record finds Cold War Kids fully embracing the pop side of their sound, with reverb heavy drums and vocals, simplistic repetitive song writing and lyrics, and a maximalist aesthetic that seems to be all the rage these days.

First things first, Hold My Home is not a bad album, but neither is it a great one (this seems to be the one thing Cold War Kids can’t fix). It’s a fine exercise in pop-rock and comes across as a polished, shiny, hummable group of radio and stadium ready tracks (the band’s sound is almost U2-like on a number of songs), if you’re into that kind thing. Listeners that make it past the initial sheen however, are left with an album that is more a group of singles with a few filler tracks than a cohesive whole – replete with melodramatic, vapid lyrics (like “engines of despair, the taste of desert air” on “Drive Desperate”), and a general try hard attitude.

Some songs, however, are able to distinguish themselves and elevate themselves closer to the much better Robbers & Cowards (although the band never comes close to matching the energy they had on that record). Tracks like “Go Quietly” and “Night & Weekends” slow everything down a bit, acting as a nice change of pace (and giving the ears a small chance to breathe on an otherwise in your face and loud album) and showcasing singer Nathan Willett’s excellent voice (the falsetto on “Go Quietly” is particularly smooth). “First” is an ear-worm of an anthem that brings Train or Gavin Degraw to mind. If you like pop music, then this is about as good as it gets. The banging piano and drums, the predictable but well executed crescendos, and simple melody and lyrics all add up to the kind of song you might hear during the credits of a teen drama, prompting listeners to rush to Google or Shazam to grab the track.

Despite its good moments, the album mostly hangs out in the purgatory of “ok.” Songs like “All This Could Be Yours” and “Drive Desperate” roll along nicely until their staccato and cliche choruses ruin the fun (the band is at their worst in staccato sections, hiding the elastic power of Willett’s voice). Other songs like “Flower Drum Song” and “Hot Coals” feel like filler tracks at best and at worst, like botched attempts by a Cold War Kids cover band.

Ultimately the album suffers from its maximalist aesthetic and pop sensibilities. Even on the quieter songs, Willett is unable to turn down the volume of his voice, belting every song out in uniform fashion like an American Idol contestant. The drums are so reverb laden and so forward in the mix that by the end of the album each moment of silence is its own paradise. Pop rarely deals in subtlety, and the same holds true of Hold My Home. It’s strip club music – glossy and loud, attractive from far away, but ultimately empty and disappointing.