Archers of Loaf
Icky Mettle

THE REVIEW

Are you familiar with the unique feeling that '90s records give off? Those little "indie" bands that, after Pavement, grasped the purpose of their lives?

The Archers of Loaf, taking from what those who need to understand have already grasped, produced an album to which I have no qualms about awarding the fabled 5 stars. North Carolina, 1993. Recorded and mixed in just seven days, $5000 budget. 1994. The video for Web in Front (just listening to this should convince you to get this record) was roasted by Beavis and Butt-head. What could be better? Even Crowbar made it to MTV that way back then. Incredible.

The Archers immediately reveal themselves to be versatile, even if tied to some form of pop, or at least recognizable as a structure. You could mention Dinosaur Jr., Superchunk, things like that. The guitar sound also travels in those areas; the band takes these influences and risks them with noise and dissonant riffs reminiscent of Pavement. Filtered through a pop component, as I said, they develop a rare balance between "I'm off the scale, damn it" and "it gives me chills" (e.g., Learo, You're a Hole).

It's really hard not to nod your head to these tunes: you can feel the youth and the deep pleasure of expressing yourself, or at least that's what they convey to me. It's the typical CD you want to burn and take with you in the car in summer. The one you can overindulge in.

They put a bit of everything into it. They are rhythmically varied, anthemic, not a dull moment. If you love indie, pop, noise, rock, this album is for you; you will find frenzied adolescent outbursts drowned in the garage (Sick File), urban noise flares (Toast), flawless Pop pieces, stuff akin to Seam (the magnificent Wrong), even a track that denotes a listen to Faust, I think, or let's just say I like it because I believe it (Hate Paste). Perhaps in the end, though, the best description is the thought of singer and guitarist Eric Bachmann: "When I listen to Icky Mettle, I can't help but grin. But what people liked at the time was perhaps exactly that". It's a feeling we all experience when we think of an old act of ours, an old response, a gesture that seemed beautiful and full of meaning at one time and from which, over time, we've distanced ourselves, we no longer feel it's ours, or rather, it's the fact that it was ours that distances us from it; we want to separate from what no longer holds relevance, especially if it's a step of growth, a necessary step. We reject our old selves, shed our skin. Looking back, we see nothing but that old shell, now a bit smelly, somewhat ridiculous, a bit of a breached haven, a door that's closed. Even to protect what we've achieved, we close our eyes and ears and leave it behind, even covering it up, like it's a ghost or an old, out-of-fashion vestige. Often its very age, its lack of continuation, can provoke a grinning indulgence, paradoxically, full of emotion. Who knows if, in the end, that might be the only value it can have.