The Guardian 80

(Anti-)

Few others do gorgeous distortion like Vancouver’s Japandroids. Previous records had a lo-fi garage edginess to them – skittish drums, lyrical yelps, cavalcades of crunch – but Near to the Wild Heart of Life, their third album, is so luxuriously gnarled it roars out of the speakers like the Revenant bear. The duo have nailed the art of the crunching, life-affirming crescendo. The title track has rousing get-in-a-moshpit-and-hug-your-mates choruses but it’s also pleasantly grown-up: emo-rock for those who still wear plaid shirts and skate shoes but who also now brew their own craft ale. North East South West, meanwhile, is a Canadian punk take on patriotic country music, with a chorus that sounds like they’ve got a battalion behind them. The electronic-spiked I’m Sorry (For Not Finding You Sooner) and Arc of Bar are both claustrophobic and widescreen, and not unlike a pumped-up Placebo. And their whoa-oh refrains will slay at festivals this summer. Feelings sound so good cranked up to 11.

Pitchfork 71

Listening to Japandroids makes me think about Jenga. You have the most basic elements (guitar, drums, and vocals, in this case) delicately stacked on top of each other. The raw materials are so simple, but the more it builds in increments, the higher the stakes become; each move ratchets up the tension partly because you know the whole thing is constantly in danger of buckling under itself at any time.

Likewise, the best Japandroids songs are always threatening to topple over; singer/guitarist Brian King struggles to reach his highest notes, and drummer David Prowse pounds the drums frantically, like they might be running away from him. They teeter forever on a precipice separating transcendence from pure cheese—one of their best songs turns on the cathartic refrain “I just wanna worry about those sunshine girls”—but it’s sold with life-changing intensity. As a lyricist, King takes you to that precipice, invites you to look over, even gives you the smallest nudge—and then he catches you.

Which is why the advance single to their latest record “Near to the Wild Heart of Life” is so disappointing. “Near to the Wild Heart of Life” is too perfect. The grit on King’s voice is gone; the guitar is too cleanly mixed; the drums don’t hit as hard. This is a band whose second album is literally titled Celebration Rock, but this song’s version of a lyrical clincher—“I used to be good but now I’m bad”—clunks off the ear like a tennis ball against a wall.

For the most part, Near to the Wild Heart of Life sticks to the Japandroids M.O. King still writes about drinking, about girls, about the love-hate relationship between himself and the idea of a hometown. King claims Vancouver, although things have gotten slightly more complicated as the band has tacked between Toronto, New Orleans, and Mexico City, taking a three-year hiatus of touring beginning in 2013. This much is reflected in the rollicking autobiographical travelogue “North East South West,” which is one of King’s sharpest songs on the album lyrically. But the mix is too pristine, the acoustic guitar too loud, and it lacks the bite of their best songs.

More disheartening is the sapping of King’s sense of humor. He was often funny in a straightforward way, like Jonathan Richman if he weren’t a teetotaler: “Don’t we have anything to live for?/Well of course we do/But ‘til they come true/We’re drinking,” went a highlight from “The Nights of Wine and Roses.” On “Wet Hair” he gave us the magnificent “Must get to France so we can French kiss some French girls.” There are no similar laugh lines on Near to the Wild Heart of Life, which relies heavily on cliches and platitudes minus the wink or the grin.

Take “Arc of Bar,” a seven-minute story song that is the centerpiece of the record and defiantly unlike anything else in the band’s catalog. But it doesn’t build to a hearty climax, a hallmark of the band. It just lumbers around, as King places hoary cliché on top of hoary cliché about “hustlers, whores” and “the jokers doing the dealing” and “a mistress, to some a muse…for her love, I would help the devil.” For a band that lives by its ability to slam-dunk a moment of catharsis, this song is the ultimate heat-check.

The spruced up modern-rock sound of a song like “True Love and a Free Life of Free Will” has the hollow appeal of “real” rock and roll bands like Foo Fighters or the Black Keys. (King sounds awfully like Dave Grohl on “Midnight to Morning.”) The band that playfully riffed on Thin Lizzy or sustained one riff for five minutes while proclaiming “after her/I quit girls,” now sounds like MOR. It’s a testament to King’s inherent likability and the band’s still-effortless knack for memorable melodies that this album isn’t as big a disappointment as it may seem. They still have the discipline to keep things at eight songs only, and they can still reel off a sparkler like “No Known Drink or Drug,” an incandescent song that flares with the ending “…could ever hold a candle to your love.”

King and Prowse have sustained critical and fan love for eight years now. Both seem to be comfortable in their roles as rock veterans, with a loyal fanbase, a label that allows them years between records. Who am I to begrudge artists who’ve matured? Perhaps it’s age, experience, a new record label, the inevitable artistic instinct to want to switch things up a little, but whatever the reason, Near to the Wild Heart of Life ultimately lacks the urgency of the band’s best music. The tower hasn’t collapsed, but it’s starting to wobble.

Drowned In Sound 70

"Remember there’s heaven in the hellest of holes".

First things first: a disclaimer for the uninitiated. Your enthusiasm for Japandroids stands in direct correlation to your levels of cynicism. Fortunately, your decision to give their latest album Near to the Wild Heart of Life can be quickly made by a simple self-assessment.

Prone to eye-roll at the very concept of rock ‘n’ roll? This may not be your cup of tea.

In 11 years of irony-free turning it up to 11 though, Japandroids have swept up a seriously committed choir of the converted to preach to from the sizeable remainder.

Lyrically, frontman Brian King is one of life’s optimists, unafraid to celebrate the sunny side of life or paraphrase the Barney theme tune (try to un-hear that on ‘True Love and A Free Life of Free Will’).

The raw, riotous, romantic racket he makes with drummer Dave Prowse captures that point-of-view to a tee, a sound that’s pure unfiltered distillate of youth.

Which is why the five years since the critically acclaimed and aptly named Celebration Rock are so significant. For a band that trades in fast and loud, having the handbrake on and the engine off is an unexpected development.

It’s no surprise then, that the time away has made some significant changes to the make-up of their third record. Three, to be specific.

A substantial step-up in production values for one, paired with a relatively sizeable gearshift down in intensity as a second. Last - but by no means least - a matured sense of perspective.

Case-in-point for the first two is the title-track: the album’s opener, first single, and a manifesto of sorts.

‘Near to the…’ is vintage Japandroids, a joyous burst out of the gates that’s fuelled by the desire to “make some ears ring” and get you “all fired up” all over again. It’s irrepressible, self-mythologising and charming as hell.

But there’s a ‘but’. Something ever so slightly off. Because whilst the production ensures the drums and vocals hit crisp and clean, they just don’t quite hit as hard as they could.

This nagging feeling rears its head a few times over the course of the record, but the epitome of it is the album’s seven-minute centrepiece ‘Arc of Bar’.

Unashamedly epic in length and slick in production, ‘Arc…’ grabs your attention from the off with its synthesised loop and liberal use of reverb, a foundation that veers away from Japandroids’ signature elbow grease.

It’s not the principle of the song that’s the issue though. The cinematic scope of the song gives King a well-earned opportunity to air out his literary inclinations. He obliges, soaring over New Orleans, and adopting the role of bard to fill us in on the fleeting magic of the band’s time there. And then? He blows it.

From the very first line (“Hustlers, whores…”) hope wavers. By the time you’ve reached repeated references to "mosquitos abuzz" and the seventh round of bored choral “yeahs”, this bloated, initially intriguing, number has outstayed its welcome like a faltering joke that ends with '…you had to be there'.

I’m lingering on this because it feels like Japandroids have put a fair amount of stock into it too.

It’s the core of the record, a big step forward into the unknown, and it proves a disappointment: a style over substance tribute to the worst excesses of classic rock rather than the fleet-footed repurposing that Japandroids made their name with.

It also makes it clear that sleeker production choices alone can’t be wholly blamed for any reservations about the record. The more familiar-sounding distortion-heavy ‘I’m Sorry (For Not Finding You Sooner)’ makes that point by similarly stubbing its toe as it strikes out on its own. Simply put, there are a few songs here which aren’t quite up to the band’s highest standards.

Which brings us to that third point-of-difference mentioned a fair while back: a sense of perspective.

Near to the Wild Heart of Life’s title is a quote from James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, which helpfully works as a synopsis of what this album is all about.

This particular portrait of young men depicts an age of re-connection and re-appraisal. It details relationships between friends, lovers and audiences being rekindled and acts as an ode to the mechanisms that facilitate: nights at the bar, the road, and the exhilarating buzz of guitar-lead meets amplifier.

The takeaway? That times change.

The band’s first record was intended as one last rage against the dying of the light before throwing in the towel and their second rode in on the blaze of triumph snatched from the jaws of defeat.

It would be wholly unlikely then - if not outright false - for the band to be coasting on those same energies five years down the line.

As people, Japandroids circa-2017 have swapped ambitions to “French-kiss some French girls” for contented commitment. Fittingly, it’s when they’re truest to themselves that they shine the brightest.

‘North East South West’ is a punk-troubadour delight about King’s globetrotting in search of love. The tempo-raising breakdown and “bring me back home to you” call-and-response refrain of ‘Midnight to Morning’ are goosebump-inducing. ‘No Known Drink or Drug’ and ‘In A Body Like a Grave’ meanwhile, impassionedly sell the band’s revised vision with the same gusto and zeal they’ve have always had.

Which is what – when the dust settles – you’re here for. Whilst their dedication to the eight-song album format means that their missteps are all the more apparent, those same flaws can’t hide the fact that Japandroids' hearts are still right where they belong: on their sleeves.

There’s plenty of Near to the Wild Heart of Life that carries the essential appeal of the band in spades, namely, a dedication to giving it your all until you collapse with euphoria and exhaustion.

And that’s the whole point of this fist-pumping, foot-stamping, head-banging business in the first place, right?

Tiny Mix Tapes 50

Japandroids
Near to the Wild Heart of Life

[ANTI-; 2017]

Rating: 2.5/5