Slow Club - Yeah So
Slow Club is a folk-pop duo from Sheffield, England made up of Rebecca Taylor and Charles Watson. They released their debut album, Yeah So, last summer, but it’s only now finding its way across the pond. They’ve licensed a few older songs for use in commercials around the English-speaking world (to pay the bills and such) and they recently played a string of shows at SXSW. All in all, it’s a pretty bland story—mundane even—a story we’d expect to read and promptly forget along with the name of the band attached to it. In one sense, we might be tempted to say something similar about Yeah So. It’s a record of simple, energetic, and unrelentingly earnest songs about all the little nooks and crannies of romantic love. Taylor and Watson split vocal duties down the middle, throw in some extra drums and guitars when needed, and rollick their way through thirteen songs in about 45 minutes. Yeah, so? So in spite of all that, there is something lovable and vital about this album.
Perhaps one of the best ways to break down what Slow Club do best is to look at Yeah So’s opening tracks. “When I Go” gets things rolling simply, with Taylor and Watson singing together over a single strummed guitar. The lyrics are a series of promises to get married if they’re both still single at various ages. It’s very sweet and very cute and very, very twee, but it’s something they’re smart enough to only do once. Even though it’s presented as a tender folk ballad, Slow Club can’t contain their characteristic enthusiasm for even a couple minutes. Listen to how they kick up the volume and grin their way through the lines “If I get to 40 and I don’t have a spouse / I’ll fashion you a letter and I’ll send it to your house.” On the other hand, second track and album standout “Giving Up On Love” goes full-bore from the start. It’s practically designed to be an anthem, with the band playing echo-y electric guitars on the front side of the beat, dropping down the arrangement frequently to heighten the sense of release, and, most importantly, never letting the song shed an ounce of dramatic energy. The chorus hits hard because they bust out their 60s pop chops leading into it, as Taylor belts out “I’ve been tired and hopeful / for far too long now” on the build and then they jump back into unison for the hook like it’s the only sensible thing to do.
That sprinkling of dramatic, girl-group-ish moments into their airtight country-folk ditties turns up several other times and is certainly one of Yeah So’s biggest saving graces. The chorus of “It Doesn’t Have to Be Beautiful” (“Baby, I know it’s over / tell me (please), wait ‘til you’re sober”) uses Taylor’s descending background vocals to color the song’s peppiness with an unexpected poignance, while “There’s No Good Way to Say I’m Leaving You” slows down and stretches out a similar hook to give the already passable ballad some historic heft. An orchestral flourish pops up half way through acoustic waltz “Apples and Pairs,” and there’s even an old school theremin bit in “Dance ‘til the Morning Light.” Even when chronicling their most down-and-out moments, Slow Club cling to an essential (and quite possibly naive) hope that comes through not just in the lyrics, but in the attention to small details, the tight, mature construction of these tracks, and the careful pacing of the album.
Yeah So ends on “Our Most Brilliant Friends,” which combines and distills the agendas set forth by the first two tracks (see what I mean about pacing?) in a yelpy rocker that takes more than a few pointers from the Arcade Fire. Sleigh bells, choral backing vocals, and orchestral drums surround Taylor and Watson as they continue to do what they’ve been doing this whole time: clinging to love and earnestness in the midst of chaos. “All our most brilliant friends are doubting themselves / and we’re scared about the world / the atmosphere, our bodies, and our health / so just dance with me,” they shout, as if they needed any more convincing. Make sure you stick around for an untitled song featuring Taylor alone with her guitar tacked onto the end of “Brilliant Friends,” which mentions, among other things, Tim Burton movies and her secret desire to be a rapper. It’s a quaint but surprisingly affecting turn on an album full of them, and it helps make Yeah So one of the year’s most pleasant sleeper records. I think you will like it.
