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All right. I've finally stopped listening to the damn thing long
enough to write about it. No, I don't need immediate psychological
attention and my wrists are fully intact and without mar, but after
listening to the debut release To Lose My Life by White
Lies (on Fiction Records, long time home of The Cure -
go figure,) I could see why one would want to do a check up on the
listeners. Why is that, you ask? While you're dancing around screaming
the lyrics to this hot mess you might want to realize the people around
you are looking at you oddly not because your singing is horrific,
but yes, you're singing about your blood being painted on the floor,
dying a lot, and eventually being undead; and in track number 4, "Fifty
On Our Foreheads," is a vague translation of the 2007 movie Sunshine
in which the sun dies - yet in White Lies' translation; groups of
children are sent into space to resuscitate it... Oh, and they die!
Sweet! Let's rock! Wait, where are you going?
The British artists are donning their best black, super pouts, and
their lyrics are so equally dark I need a flashlight. I love it. The
band is steeped in the influences of Joy Division, Echo
And The Bunnymen, and they have obviously listened to a ton of
(my favorite) Interpol, and yet Harry McVeigh's vocal
ability sits cautiously apart from them to maintain its originality.
Yes, you can find some similarities in the title track "To Lose
My Life" to the lead singer of The Killers, but it's really
so faint its only noticeable after the first three listens. Well,
now that you've read this you'll probably be listening out for it.
But don't let that taint your own experience. (No hate intended to
The Killers.)
The first track, "Death", leads in strong with the same
feeling (and lyrics) of an airplane take off. "I love the feeling
when we lift up/watching the world so small below/I love the dreaming
when I think of/the safety in the clouds out my window..." Yes,
it goes on to talk about screaming in fear that they'll plunge to
their deaths and "fear's got a hold on me," but from the
beginning, this melancholy trio has got it. It's dark enough to make
the goths and emos squeal (or moan as the case may be) in delight
while the rest of the musically literate should be nodding in smug
appreciation. I'd even go as far to say that Ian Curtis is
somewhere smiling a smidgen. The stage is set for this new band with
a lift-off upon which you cannot let yourself miss out. I hope to
hear lots more from them in the future.
-Elysabeth Williams
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