Agree to Disagree
Line & Circle’s debut album Split Figure is a problem, a problem that requires a certain type of contextual understanding to really appreciate. Or, you know, maybe not.
“Roman Ruins” begins like quintessential early 90’s Britpop; everyone from Oasis to The Stone Roses to classic groups like The Cure are mixed up somewhere in the jangling acoustic guitars, clean electric arpeggios and piston-like post-punk hi-hat work. Michael Stipe’s stylistic influence is rampant as well. In fact, almost every single song sounds at least vaguely like R.E.M’s “Radio Free Europe,” and is primarily composed of a guitar tone that people would reductively call “college radio rock” if it were the year 1991. It’s all pleasant enough. “Like a Statue” is punctuated by Johnny Marr-esque scrambles up and down the fretboard, half-solo half-chordal tapestries, though Line and Circle’s guitar antics are (forgivably) not quite as technically proficient. “Statue” could be a Smiths song if it weren’t for the modern production. It sounds made for a road trip, so crisp and economical and forward-moving. It even calls back to the The Replacements in spots where the singer gives it a rest.
But something is definitely amiss, and it’s not just the semi-uniform songwriting, which is excusable. The end result of Split Figure is slick and shiny, so pristinely mixed and machine pressed. It sounds like ProTools: The Movie. This is post-punk that has no texture, no edge. There are no accidental Sonic Youth pick scrapes. There’s not an out of key moan to be heard, or even any kind of vocalization apart from Brian Cohen’s (only slightly) less than perfect Morrissey approximation.
It makes you realize that the meat of this thing we call post-punk is all in the subtleties, the trappings. It’s all in the claustrophobic arrangements. It’s all in the atonal noise “guitar leads.” It’s all in the biting bass tone with a little too much gain on the bridge pick up. It’s all in the snobbishly aloof attitude of the malnourished-looking lead singer. Which, inevitably, means that half of what makes successful post-punk bands like Interpol work is posturing, image in conjunction with the actual sound coming from the amps. Uncool post-punk is just power pop with sad, self-indulgent lyrics. At the risk of sounding like an asshole, this subgenre does not match this gleaming chrome style of production in a way that leaves us with interesting music. Saying that Line & Circle’s singer is too tuneful of a crooner and that Split Figure feels glossy and manufactured is not a valid musical criticism. All music is manufactured. It’s pretty much like saying that Line & Circle are both too uncool and, worse, too proficient as musicians to play music that sounds even vaguely like Joy Division and The Fall. Which is basically what I’m saying. It’s like Billy Joel doing a Tom Waits cover album. Line & Circle have forced us to admit that there’s a finite threshold for how hard you can appear to be trying in this genre of indie/alt rock, and and that’s a shitty thing to admit.
But even then, it’s not the commercial indulgences that altogether kill the individual songs; post-punk has never really been known for its progressivism when it comes to pop music structure. The piano plinks in “Mine Is Mine” are acceptable. The Peter Hooke-like bass riffs of the title track always enter with such tangible, earthbound promise, but sail off into the clouds on the wings of an overproduced chorus before you even have a chance to appreciate them. Sick bass grooves abound in “Shades of Pride,” but the notes connect like a series of pillows thrown casually in the listener’s direction rather than the customary sonic jackhammer. With all the low end creativity that Jon Engelhard manages, all the songs still have the same tempo and cadence. They might all be in the same key. Even the drums don’t quite snap at you. They sound so agreeable and friendly. In this way, Line & Circle bear an alarming resemblance to Editors, Interpol’s simpleton cousin.
But the closing instrumental coda of “Tunnel Joy” is so huge and enveloping and beautiful! How are all these great moments drowned out? Why isn’t this record better? You could totally cut this album into like 30 second segments and stitch it together and have a killer four song EP, but as it stands Split Figure is weak. The new group could take some notes from Protomartyr, a band who are far less technically talented and, as perhaps a direct result, far more fun to listen to. They do everything right that Line & Circle do wrong. Greg Ahee can’t really sing and the guitar riffs of songs like “Come and See” are way sparser and sound less thought out, but it all adds up to something with personality, something with imperfection and character and a weird paradoxical bravado. Just be a little uglier next time, guys, and maybe just a touch less perfect.
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