Diarrhea Planet - Turn to Gold

Pitchfork 64

When asked recently about Diarrhea Planet’s ambitions for their new album, guitarist Jordan Smith fantasized about a Grammy win, saying it would be "the biggest practical joke on the music industry of all time." Whether or not that’s really his dream, it comes at a pivotal moment for his cringe-inducingly named band. At a certain point in the telling of a long joke, the audience needs to know the punchline–so when will Diarrhea Planet reveal theirs?

On their third record, Turn to Gold, it feels like either the band has taken their schtick too far or their commitment to it hasn’t gone far enough. Here we find the group—a stellar and gleefully cheesy live act—trawling much of the same hair-metal and pop-punk territory they covered on their last EP and second album, I’m Rich Beyond Your Wildest Dreams, albeit with shinier production.

Though the songwriting is largely similar to Diarrhea Planet's past efforts, their ambitions do appear to have grown somewhat, particularly on the album’s bookend tracks; the instrumental intro “Hard Style” sets a brawny rock tone, nodding to such heart-on-sleeve punk peers as the Dropkick Murphys and Titus Andronicus. The closer, “Headband,” clocking in at nearly eight minutes, is a proper send-‘em-to-bed colossus of multiple parts, tempos, and tones, and is more experimental and sophisticated than anything else on the record. While it lacks some of the easy melodies found elsewhere Turn to Gold, its depth suggests the band may actually have a goal beyond taking the piss.

Another standout is the lovely, Ted Leo-esque “Bob Dylan’s Grandma”—a heart-pounding song about adolescence and musicianship that rings more pure than anything they’ve done before. There’s a not-so-subtle reason it sounds better than everything else on Turn to Gold: it’s sung by guitarist Emmett Miller, who has a natural pop-punk yawp. It’s the only track that doesn't feature the band’s two main singers, Smith and Brent Toler, whose thin voices and limited ranges are deficient for the type of over-the-top instrumental pyrotechnics the group favors. Hearing them front such otherwise flamboyant music is like pairing a vintage Gucci dress with a pair of old Birkenstocks.

The true intentions of Diarrhea Planet remain as murky as ever on Turn to Gold. If the band wants to be a slick, proudly ridiculous arena-rock band, as the record hints, why not go all-in like their predecessors The Darkness and recruit a truly talented vocalist like Justin Hawkins? (Hey, even Mark Hoppus would do.) Or, if they want to keep the shambolic D.I.Y. energy they began with, why don’t they take the production back toward something rougher, looser?

It’s easy to imagine that when Diarrhea Planet are onstage in their screaming, sweating glory, all of this matters much less to them, because that’s the medium they thrive in. (Grateful Dead fans will surely recognize this argument of “but they’re so much better live, man!”) And if Diarrhea Planet’s goal is just to be a memorable, messily great live band, they’re well on their way. But if they want their records to live on, they need to decide what they're trying to achieve, and figure out how to deliver it more effectively offstage.