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Rating: I watch the raindrops crash against my neighbor's well-trimmed hedge. An early June that feels like late October. One of those not-days when you miraculously wake up and find a book forgotten by a friend titled "The Secret Language of the Body." Thoughts of scavenging on earthly insecurities over breakfast between one cookie and another were just what I needed. So I do what is most appropriate to do on these provincial and anesthetized mornings: I put on music to feed the emptiness that engulfs me, to stare at the void with a more suitable background than the eerie silence.
The screams of repressed teenagers from PS I Love You prove therapeutic to soothe morning lethargy, as do their sharp and decadent guitars. A post-melodic slap that seems to emerge from a garage 30 meters underground. I've particularly fallen in love with "How Do You" and its repressed vitality balanced between rancor and melancholy. But also with "First Contact," one of the most beautiful rock tracks of these years.
The strength of an album like this is its incoherence. The fury of the Canadians manages roughly to materialize in a few songs, at most we grasp drafts of melodies under the noise veil of the distorted blare, at other times we get lost in a certain pop-star kitsch: "Sentimental Dishes" and "Don't Go" above all go overboard.
A more than confirmation after the solid debut, these guys have a lot to say, unlike myself. And now it's hailing on that damn hedge.
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