07/07/08
Text: Andrew Z. Williams
Women are complicated. An obvious little quip (and one that these four gents will no doubt have heard ad nauseum), but a pretty damn accurate one all the same. The ten tracks on their self-titled debut (Flemish Eye) can be roughly divided into two camps: the noisy ones and the poppy ones. But then, the poppy ones end up getting pretty noisy (bouncy opener "Cameras"), and the noisy ones pretty poppy ("Flashlights" fashions a disjointed groove from its air-raid guitars). Think the cheery harmonies of the Beach Boys muffled by the despair of Reagan-era Sonic Youth, or the rhythmic sensibilities of the Feelies married to the clash and clamor of the Velvet Underground (listen to Women get their John Cale on at the end of "Upstairs").
All knee-jerk comparisons aside, though, Women have made a very startling and serious debut. The poppier songs of Women's self-titled debut float in and out through a wash of feedback and clanging cymbals, their 60s shine dulled by menace, like a beach after the fog has rolled in. Indeed, it is this pervasive malignance that makes Women so interesting. Something ominous lurks in the up-down guitar line of standout track "Black Rice": the xylophone's sweet clinks ring a bit hollow, that guitar line is just a bit too sharp--indeed, it's angular enough to put holes in the song, eventually causing it to give out, and sink with a whine. The vocals range from chants to quavering doo-wop falsettos, the words sung hardly distinguishable amidst the tumult. "Upstairs" begins with a strolling bass and choppy guitar chords, accompanied by "what the fuck should we do today" vocals. The song rattles and shakes along, more and more loosely, until it comes apart at the seams. Closer "Flashlights" lurches off from its inception on a plucked upright bass and slowly wades into chaotic waves of heavy sound. Ultimately Women seems to be about tenuousness, the careful balance that exists between a song and a riot, and Women revel in the huge gray area that lies between those two distinctions—indeed, they've pitched a tent and started recording songs there.
To some, Women may seem a little too much of a "first album," the tracks veering back and forth between soundscape and song. But really, these seem to be Women's strengths; not lack of cohesion, but rather the idea that there is continuity in the disjointed. A song, distorted to the proper degree, becomes a sound, and vice versa. The best tracks on Women are constantly in flux, like a coat hanger that's been unwound and then reformed; not quite the same, but somehow none the worse for wear. One is even tempted to view the album (relatively short, about 29 minutes all told) as one long, continuous track. The album's art seems to further suggest this notion: a field of people performing group calisthenics, each minutely—yet significantly—differing from the other. A fitting metaphor for Women; disparate parts that make up a beautiful whole.
