Wildhoney
Sleep Through It

I told you to wait patiently for Wildhoney’s first full-length album, and here it is.

Style in abundance, skill as well, with no apparent external contamination outside the radical shoegaze scene. Good.

The problem with the gaze scene today is not so much the genre exercise by many bourgeois craftsmen who do gaze because they can afford pedalboards covering 50 square meters of floor space, amp heads as big as 4 x 10 cabinets, connected to other heads connected to livable cabinets with wardrobe space and a bar corner. The problem is the lack of songs, those that allow at least a hum or a whistle along, songs where you feel more of the Field Mice than the Deftones—not that the Deftones, heaven forbid, wouldn't be appreciated, etc.—in short, a melodic core, a strong idea, a recognizable flash of inspiration.

Well, Wildhoney doesn’t invent or break new ground, but they cleverly combine the exuberance of watts with a melody of a sure mnemonic appeal, and tracks like I Owe You Nothing remain well remembered and pleasantly sung along despite the up-down/left-right head movement when the bass twists, dynamics increase, and pastel shades light up like wax crayons. Childish in the sweet falsetto sobbing of the fringed Lauren Shusterich, capable of modest acrobatics in minor keys (the beautiful Tea Leaves, with Celtic-Oriental vocal hints), icy and liquid descents (Fall in opens superbly).
They are not afraid to reveal the intertwining of the lead guitar (moving between tremolo-picking and high arpeggios), the accompaniment, and the bass: they present them crystal clear, perfectly readable, free from tinnitus and fuzz disguise, since they have no compositional gaps to mask in the name of propulsion and decibel frenzy.

The general mood is distinctly Souvlaki, melancholic and underwater, with more lively moments in Whirlpool zone—that wonderful and neglected album by Chapterhouse—and sudden bursts of postmodern surf punk (listen to Maybe You're Crazy). Dreamy too, but more driven than Echo Lake, to name a fine new school group; here hindered by a mix and perhaps even a capture from the amps that’s not entirely convincing, with guitars sometimes too behind and weak, evanescent bass, reverbs occasionally unnatural, and timid feedback. Their EP sounded better, just listen to the sharpness gap between the version of Seventeen there and the one here.
For as nice as it is that Wildhoney prioritizes substance, they write about acoustics and cannot afford heavy pedals, they risk a timbral anonymity like Nocturne of the other wild ones on the scene, Wild Nothing.
A few less packs of cigarettes, a few more pedals, a dozen sound engineers and the next round will be five stars.