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Rock ‘n’ roll is a tricky beast. Just when you think you've tamed it, it sneaks up and bites you in the neck. Yes, because no matter how much you try to civilize a wild animal, its instincts prevail; true rock 'n' roll cannot be tamed for long, even when buried under a mountain of synth; sooner or later it takes revenge and shoves the Casio right where the sun doesn't shine, forcing you to worship the good old Farfisa.
And to play rock 'n' roll well, you need to have not just the guts, but the face of a rocker. Greg Cartwright (a.k.a. Greg Oblivian) obviously has both, and his mates in Reigning Sound are no different (just take a look at the group photo on the back of the vinyl). Be careful not to consider Reigning Sound as the "poor man's Oblivians", but rather as a melancholic version of them, with the mud splashes and punk fervor stripped away, adding a surplus of soul and R&B (not THAT R&B) that is typically African American.
You can listen to "Love And Curses" and hastily label it as just another garage-rock 'n' roll album and you might even be right, because there is very little objective in music. But would you stop judging a gift just by its packaging? I hope not, because you would miss out on one of the best half-hours of these recent (lean) years. Greg loves to stir up the murky waters of romantic relationships, songs of broken love, sung and sometimes shouted, showcasing a soul-tinged voice too often submerged by the intentionally lo-fi recordings of the Oblivians.
"Break It", "The Bells" and "Debris" would be, in a better world, imperishable hymns to unresolved love, the kind you chase but don’t really want to catch, which is to say, the only true love. The ideal one. "Something To Hold Onto" and "Love Won’t Leave You A Song" are the paradigm (with pros and cons) of the perfect "torch song," while "Polly Anne" stitches a Beatles-like melody onto a warm Hammond like a suffering heart. It's necessary to mention at least three songs that alone are worth the price of admission: perhaps "If I Can’t Come Back", the definitive garage-soul song, with the ghost of Chuck Berry tapping on your shoulder; "Stick Up For Me," a cover of Sun Glass, tossed around between the Sonics’ fervor and organ accompaniment; "Banker And A Liar", a final western ballad, a lucid and pessimistic view of these dark times.
In just under half an hour, it's game, set, match. Easily the rock 'n' roll album of 2009.
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