Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Artist: Thrills, The
Label: Virgin Records
Release: 2011
Runtime: 52:30
Rating: 2.8/5
How do you pin down The Thrills? As Irishmen? As rebels? As artists? As musically inspired? All of the above, you’d say, while a whole palette of creators, more or less crowned with Grammys and similar trophies, parades through your head, and from that spectrum of center-stage phenomena, after the turn of the millennium some syrup also oozes out, going by the name The Thrills. And then it hits me that I’ve managed to sleep through this chapter of music until now and have no clue what to picture under the name The Thrills, or, to rephrase a rather obscure thing: »Who the hell are The Thrills and who do they even turn on?« If rock has a dark side that pulls you in, the sun-drenched bright end of the spectrum is often anything but something the body would instantly get used to without a fight, and in the quest for an answer to how and why the lads pulled it off, the compilation 2002 – 2007 recently showed up, lining up all the singles this Dublin phenomenon fired off into the ether and into listeners’ ears.
You could agree that it’s pretty hard to compete in Britpop without turning syrupy, repetitive and burnt out, but if you add to the recipe of basic drowsy music-making at a mid-to-slow tempo a sunny hint of surfer moments from the likes of the Beach Boys, as if sung by an eternally melancholic, harmonica-strapped Neil Young, you intuitively get a first approximation of what this Irish five-piece sounds like. The main food group is clearly nostalgia, mainlining a sort of hybrid mix of sixties sound, acoustics and pop, and somewhere in the background you can hear that the boys also liked to listen to country, R.E.M. and The Beatles. And how much actual history did the youngsters weave into just three albums? It’s no surprise at all that the lion’s share goes to the band’s most fruitful period – the 2003 debut So Much For The City, which came close to being crowned with the Mercury music prize. The surf-optimism-soaked opener One Horse Town is the first shock to the system, and the escapist tangle of soulless, airless, out-of-breath vocals from singer Conor Deasy has clearly hit the spot with the new-age partygoers on the island (and across Europe too), what with the tenor, the high-riding balls and the rather hermetic lyrics, which only manage to light up a rainbow sky over the fairy-tale land of Nije that’s already tinted with the neon of parties, carefreeness and fake happiness.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6itTL2BR1Y
Whatever Happened To Cory Haim? Beats me, because this cheerful little tune doesn’t answer that admittedly silly question, but judging by the soaring orchestration, the pop-ish danceability and the unstoppable sweetness, it was apparently nothing too awful or tragic … The strings plucked by the new generation of hipsters are clearly less worried about the state of the world. Still, I have to admit that the first one to grab me, with its radiant, infectious banjo playing and organ, is Big Sur. A track that feeds on the cereal of the likes of The Monkees clearly won over wider crowds too, since it’s actually the song that landed The Thrills in the Top 20. And I also realize that The Thrills were, in a way, naturally appealing, because in the flood of garage-grimy rockers there was a real shortage of a bit of glamour, shine, glitter and pop that has more to offer than shaking a big black butt, pumped-up bass and lyrics about sex. With their harmlessness and their echoes of Morrissey, Neil and the likes of Oasis, and some people even heard Phil Spector in there, The Thrills were a kind of fresh breath mint in the mouth of an otherwise all-negative, well-fed folk scene.
After the harmonica-inspired, repetitive moment of Santa Cruz (You’re Not That Far), the tempo picks up with the danceable little number The Irish Keep Gatecrashing, which is really a homage to The Strokes, while the sexy Hollywood Kids sounds juicier, dirtier and more smoky-club, with no shame about a genetic code that stretches all the way to the cowboy cattle country, but with taste and style. There’s clearly a touch of world-weariness in there too, and that there’s something hearty and tasty in the story is proven by the fact that over time the boys clearly grew a bit more manly carrots, swapping the quivering rays of sunshine for less polished shades of smoky evening light and organic sensibility. That’s shown by the overlooked record Teenager, which served up tracks like Midnight Choir, which flows so sweetly into the molasses-y marshmallow of the melodic and by no means half-hearted Don’t Steal Our Sun, which sounds like Paul, Ringo, John and George fell for a country trap and set about writing Broadway standards. The sound of mandolin, acoustics and an organic, unrefined swan song in the form of the album Teenager suits them better. Restaurant booms out naive but just-dreamy-enough and inspired, goosebumps come courtesy of Faded Beauty Queens, on which seasoned R.E.M. ace and minimalist Peter Buck laid his fingers on the mandolin, and the dirty undertone of rasping distortion even comes off a little grimy, cheeky and definitely likable. The melancholic trip of joy, though, grows darker and paler and drifts into a state of catatonic drowsiness and carefree resignation …
The sun doesn’t run out, and the teenage shininess never leaves the quintet – only the shape and strength of the beam of light changes. And that’s something the sound of Americana reflects, now trickling from the lips, strings and heads of thoroughly capable islanders, though it’s still a bit bizarre to listen to songs that stink so damn much of Counting Crows, plus the already mentioned »culprits« for that sweet, sentimental-laden sound. I don’t like bands like Coldplay or Fleet Foxes, and, hand on heart, The Thrills aren’t my ideal pair of headphones to strap on every single day either, but you have to give the lads credit for knowing how to make listenable music that, if tasteful dosing of pop is your yardstick, comes closer to the soul and ears of anyone who loves stringed instruments, fingers wandering over black and white keys, and just wants a little relaxation with music that isn’t too taxing or stuffed with intellectualism – and then the choice for a quick getaway is clear: for that kind of fast snack, the harmless, effortless boys from Dublin going by the name The Thrills fit the bill. So why do I feel so strange when, to cheer me up, I’m handed an obituary, a funeral hymn for a band that’s now already dead? Maybe precisely because, for all its joy, it’s somehow rather rotten in a sad way? When the lads took a bit more breath, sales figures dropped, which led to expulsion from the record label’s paradise garden, and soon after to the breakup of a band that has officially been on hiatus for the last three years. And I ask myself: was this string of stories about sunny moments, carefreeness, parties, joy and exaltation written with the pen of sincerity or of calculation? Is an answer even needed, and the only answer is the question repeated: »Who the hell were The Thrills?« and who did they actually lift up? The emphasis is just on the changing of times and the fact that everything is fleeting …
Lineup
Conor Deasy – vocals, harmonica, acoustic guitar
Daniel Ryan – guitar, bass, banjo, mandolin, backing vocals
Padraic McMahon – guitar, bass, backing vocals
Kevin Horan – piano, organ, backing vocals
Ben Carrigan – drums and percussion
Production
Tony Hoffer, Dave Sardy & The Thrills
Tracklist
- One Horse Town
- Whatever Happened To Cory Haim?
- Big Sur
- Santa Cruz (You’re Not That Far)
- The Irish Keep Gatecrashing
- Hollwood Kids
- The Midnight Choir
- Don’t Steal Our Sun
- Restaurant
- Faded Beauty Queens
- I Came All This Way
- Not For All The Love In World
- Nothing Changes Around Here
- Plans
