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Film School
Film School
Beggars Banquet
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Article
written by Phil O
Feb 14, 2006.
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With the current fad for
everything 80’s alternative and post-punk, San Francisco’s Film School seem poised to make an impact on a world presently (re)embracing everything jagged and arty. The band’s improbably-named singer Krayg Burton has the same kind of wounded yelp and sporadic disregard for pitch as Robert Smith and you get the impression that the band may have a worrying interest in their own shoes when playing live. Initial impressions, however, aren’t good. The single ‘On & On’ is very much in hock to The Cure, Joy Division and Echo and the Bunnymen, but crucially forgets to include a memorable tune or any signs of a musical pulse in its bleak six-minute slog. The song’s relentless reverb-drenched dourness just doesn’t let up and by the end, you’re about ready to suffocate yourself in some back-combed hair.
Come ‘Pitfalls’, things take a turn for the better. Backwards guitar teamed with a lively bass line and organ inject proceedings with a bit more kick and there’s at least a distinctive drive to the “Stop….and Go!” chorus. It’s at this stage of the album that they break free of their influences, stop hanging onto Ian McCulloch’s trenchcoat tails and start to showcase their diversity. The excellent ‘11.11’ (luckily not an indication of the track length) features some anxious bass and an atmosphere which recalls early REM circa ‘Murmur’. Burton nervously hollers “I’m throwing knives and you don’t even know” as the drums maintain a mood of fidgety tension and the sparring guitars become evermore frantic.
Perhaps due in part to their mass of influences which stretches from space rock to British Invasion, their keenness to cram so many ideas into the melting pot results in some overreaching. One such example is ‘Breet’, which finds the band burying some great melody ideas under a litter of clashing instruments. On the other hand, variety turns out to be their major boon. Unlike some of their one-dimensional contemporaries singing from the same well-thumbed hymn sheet, Film School have a wider sonic scope, incorporating electronica and psychedelia, which add a few more strings to their bow. Their resident electro tinkerer, Nyles Lannon, has released acclaimed solo records under the monikers n.Ln and n.lannon and his influence is present on the looped throb of ‘Garrison’ and in some of the machine-drone backing of ‘PS’ and ‘Like You Know’. The latter is the point at which Film School combine their penchant for gloom with a bit of heart and soul and it’s a runaway success. Soaring waves of guitar are spliced with Burton’s surprisingly subtle vocal and the whole thing drifts by like an echo-loaded paean to dreampop.
On the whole, this eponymous effort sees Film School turn in a decent quality set of songs, but there’s a sense that they have the potential to make a truly great album, if only they could nail down their own unique sound. As it stands, their flitting between styles and wholesale cribbing from the past amount to an intriguing, if frustratingly inconsistent listen.
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