Let’s not bandy around that ‘Best bar band in the world’ hyperbole anymore; you won’t see The Hold Steady in bars again anytime too soon. The fact is, however, that in no way does the change of scenery (or actual presence of it) for the band after 2007’s ‘Boys and Girls in America’ detract from their potency as this decade’s old-fashioned Rock and Roll phenomenon. Whether you see them in a dive or an arena, whether you’re 16 or 61 and whether you’re a resident of Ybor City or not, it doesn’t matter.
This month’s ‘A Positive Rage’ CD/DVD combo does a decent job of capturing the band live, but only 4 tracks on the setlist predate their breakthrough album. So, who’s for a little retrospective evaluation
No-one who discovered the band through ‘Boys and Girls in America’ will be overly surprised by debut ‘Almost Killed Me’; it’s essentially a looser, more jam-fuelled version of that album, seeing the band fully embracing their status as a carousing vehicle for Craig Finn’s tales of urban, location-specific youth. The only real difference is the lack of Franz Nicolay’s piano, which would later become so prominent, but is more than adequately compensated for here with nifty solos (check ‘Most People Are DJs’’s outro). The sax in ‘Hostile, Mass’ is a nice touch, and closer ‘Killer Parties’ is the sound of an arena band in an enclosed public space (guess which kind). But moreso than any other album, ‘Almost Killed Me’ is beset with some pretty troubling lyrics that are glossed over with the carefree rock and roll; the incessant beatings, drugs and deaths give Finn’s narratives an almost contradictorily mythical normality, candid but romanticised, with interchangeable scene figures.
If ‘Almost Killed Me’ provided the preface for some semi-protagonists, ‘Separation Sunday’ was a novella; despite the air-guitar posturing induced by the likes of the Meat Loaf grandiosity of ‘Stevie Nix’ and the church-band jazz of ‘Don’t Let Me Explode’ the album was lost on you if you weren’t in possession of a lyrics booklet, Finn pairing tales of modern delinquency with biblical allusions. Whilst it’s obvious that a foreign audience loses something in translation (perhaps Americans feel the same way about Art Brut) the modern-day mythology of the East Coast and the baseball-bleachers organ that runs through most of the album were tempered with the less demanding classic rock of ‘Your Little Hoodrat Friend’ and ‘Banging Camp’. Though it suffers a little from the dominance of Finn’s wordiness, eschewing much in the way of distinctive melody for groovy occasional guitar licks (‘Charlemagne in Sweatpants’, ‘How a Resurrection Really Feels’) it was still a compelling listen.
Then the move to Vagrant Records, better known for its modern day allegiance to punk rock, gave third album ‘Boys and Girls in America’ the prescience it deserved. More consolidation than step forwards, it was the sound of a band at the top of their game making a party album, ceding a little of its opaque locality to make more generalised social observations, adopting power chords whilst still retaining a degree of intellectual, complex songwriting. Take first single ‘Chips Ahoy!’, which still sounds off-time in all but its chorus, and is clearly the only song ever written about an apathetic-but-loveable horse-race psychic.
If there’s any point of comparison to the oft-mentioned Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band it’s only in both outfits’ shared faith in rock and roll as redemptive and reviving, a simultaneous source of solace and strength. Nowhere is that more obvious in the band’s catalogue than on Boys and Girls in America, where our heroes get wrecked on recreational drugs at inconspicuous get-togethers (‘Party Pit, ‘Massive Night’, ‘Hot Soft Light’), muse on human nature over a drink (the beautiful, accordion-tinged ‘Citrus’) and ‘“ on one occasion ‘“ pass out at a concert together (Chillout Tent). It’s an exuberant album from a man with a wise head on his shoulders making generalisations for almost the first time outside of city stereotypes, and the vignettes are often achingly honest or cool: ‘Citrus’’s refrain evokes a man ‘lost in fog and love and faithless fear [who's] had kisses that make Judas seem sincere’, and ‘Stuck Between Stations’ is probably the most effective ‘On the Road’ marketing tool ever. The rhythm section has never sounded more prominent, Franz Nicolay truly comes into his own with spirited accoutrements to break up the rock-outs, and the whole work runs together seamlessly.
It’s probably only due to Boys and Girls in America’s humble transcendence that ‘Stay Positive’ felt like something of a disappointment; though by no means a retread it suffered by contrast. It felt less freewheeling than its predecessor, and some of the tracks got old fast (see the incessant synth-driven ‘Navy Sheets’ and the forgettable ‘Yeah Sapphire’), but since few bands write with the effortless populist spirit of The Hold Steady it was still well-received. It was clear by now that they’d become something of an ‘exception’ in the grand scheme of things: ‘Sequestered in Memphis’ was as idiosyncratic as it was expected, and the same could be said for the title track and the streamlined, singalong ‘Magazines’. ‘Slapped Actress’ even hearkened back somewhat to ‘Separation Sunday’’s ingrained narratives preference over dynamic melodic changes, but even then the interchangeability of the band’s catalogue is surprising: up the production a little and any track on ‘Almost Killed Me’ could’ve made it to ‘Stay Positive’.
The audience may have gotten bigger, but throughout it all The Hold Steady have managed to keep a definitive, almost unwavering identity. But if they’ve stood symbolically for anything, it’s been their ability to find a bridge between two areas that many of us ‘“ especially outside of the States ‘“ have found difficult to reconcile: intellectualism and having a feckless good time. What’s the Hold Steady’s poison? It’s us. They’re gonna walk around and drink some more’¦
Almost Killed Me: 8/10
Separation Sunday: 7/10
Boys and Girls in America: 9/10
Stay Positive: 7/10
