In July of this year, Japandroids announced their breakup, as well as final album Fate & Alcohol. A righteous exercise in finality, the Vancouver duo’s fourth operates like a montage of the heartland-y schemes initiated on 2017’s Near to the Wild Heart of Life. Themes of triumph ring out to morph a history of lowbrow, boozy memories into an existential standing ovation.
The earthy spark of North American grit creates an excessive mesh with Brian King’s working man vocals. This is Tom Petty pulsating through the innards of contemporary indie rock, ravaging the primary objective of Upon Sober Reflection; solving mixed experiences of love with hindsight’s enviable IQ, raising guitars whilst the world raises a beer mug, in response to ravenous inquisitions such as “how can someone so careful with their touch at the same time be so careless with their love?”.
Philosophy lives in the scenery illustrated by King’s ringing guitar, and David Prowse’s drums, maintaining nature’s engine. The album’s take on heartland nostalgia isn’t always backed up by wordy philosophy – these green field guitars and drums occasionally speak for themselves – but Fugitive Summer allows a balance; one moment the word “baby” is simply sung, as any further thought might deny necessary moderation; the next, King odes the firsthand experience he has in “fucking up”, and the song is turned on its flinching head.
Japandroids’ knack for dramatics powers their projector – you know, the one that generates the montage alluded to earlier. Manic drum fills and minor chord switch-ups attack the deeper revelations of D&T; disclosures of nights wasted drinking and thinking about somebody, rather than being with them; weighty insight into King choosing family over touring. Positively 34th Street insinuates the same abandonment of a hard-drinking life, matched by a chirpier guitar tone.
Memories of reciprocated love echo through the rock n roll guitars of Alice, an “it was all worth it” statement that compares romance to greater festivities. Nocturnal guitars treasure a character growth that once occurred in Chicago, while the held-to-chest secrets of A Gaslight Anthem are furtherly concealed by its Husker Du-influenced punk wrapping.
Regardless of the slideshow Japandroids wish to prompt, the only real way to say goodbye is with a standout closing track. All Bets Are Off unravels not like a conventional rock song, but a shortlist of thoughts that reaches a climactic bustle before King honours the intimacy he is able to feel in memories, and the love he currently feels, flickering through empowered guitars like a million memories in one blast.
One final gesture was always essential to the humanistic touch felt throughout Japandroids’ take on heartland rock. Fate & Alcohol is a tribute to the duo’s fate (and alcohol?); the beautiful twists and turns that led us to this point.
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