Of the seemingly endless string of new and unheard of bands that land on major record labels, Nashville rockers Coin seem oddly proud of their love for the past. Without pretense, these guys pride themselves on their love for '90s alternative rock and I almost hate to tell them that they've picked the wrong decade. After just one listen to their self-titled debut ( on Star Time International-Columbia Records ), Coin are clearly children of the 1980s, which I must inform them is not a bad thing in itself.
Yes, vocalist Chase Lawrence has a perpendicular frizz of blonde hair that would give Duran Duran's Simon LeBon a hissy fit and, no, they do not come caked in reverb and grunge. What this quartet ( Lawrence, Zachery Dyke, Ryan Winnen, and Joe Memmel ) does have is an unmistakably recognizable sound ( i.e., Big Country or The Cars ), a keen appreciation for big radio hooks, sweeping melodies entangled in countermelodies, and oodles of brains, talent and passion. Only a malcontent could snip that the songs sound sorta-kinda alike or that Coin is really a pop band masquerading as an alt rock group. Labels be damned: Coin may be something old reinvented as something new by a a crew who never experienced it first-hand, but whatever they are, they are a lot of fun to listen and sing along with.
A big chunk of that appeal is in those songs, which are all highly literate lyrically, with massive hooks seamlessly sewn into the melodies. Then there is the cohesion of the band with each instrument layered one on top of the other ( another giveaway for Coin's relationship to the '80s is the clean, warm, pristine mix reminiscent of The Human League ) while congealing into a collision of musical personalities and counter melodies. On top of all that you get Lawrence and his scruffy falsetto which makes him sound like an angel with muddy bare feet.
With all these components shoved into three- to five-minute songs, Coin could easily sound like an automation rather then a band if not for the full throttle sweaty attack. "Fingers Crossed" and "Atlas" crash like tidal waves and it is nearly impossible not to get swept away with them. ( Yes, Coin should be played really LOUDLY. ) The knockout gem here is the single "Run," which takes all those radio smart hooks and blasts the living bejesus out of them. Propelled by a phalanx of crisp, ringing guitars and Lawrence and Memmel's harmonic falsettos at full roar ( a thing of beauty in itself ), "Run" blooms into a chugging wall of bliss and steamrolls ahead like the great lost summer single of 1986.
If Coin sounds like someone you may have heard before, the same certainly cannot be said for Evanston native Ezra Furman or his new full-length Perpetual Motion People ( Belle Union Records ). Now with his second great band ( the first was The Harpoons ), The Boyfriends, Furman still runs the risk of being too adorable for words and too eccentric for a mass audience. The irony is that his eccentricity and lovability are major parts of his appeal while his talent and drive distinguish him from an army of singer/songwriters.
Perpetual Motion People is a typical Furman record in that it is his state of the union address for where he is in his life. From what I've gathered from his previous seven full lengths in the past decade he has always been flummoxed by life, love, and himself. After recently coming out as bisexual and gender-fluid ( for the cover of the new single Furman is rocking what looks like a serious Mildred Pierce era Joan Crawford power suit ) Furman still sounds like a teenager head over heels in confusion and love with the squirrely joy of a twelve year old ( he is now 28 ).
Before the listener has a chance to get pulled into Furman's torrent of words and thoughts he pulls a sucker punch with the CDs first two songs. "Restless Year" is a mile-a-minute rave-up that literally serves up his agitated stream of consciousness on a big, throbbing, percussive platter of near manic energy. "Lousy Connection" is doo-wop punk turned on its ear, equal parts irrelevant and heartbreaking its hard to take seriously until Furman blurts out, "I don't want to be the bad guy/I wanna see myself from the outside...," with his heart pinned firmly on his sleeve. The twist in the two openers has nothing to do with the lyrics but everything to do with how they sound; loopy, big, rollicking, comical, and catchy as all get out. "Restless Year" and "Lousy Connection" are loony pop valentines of neuroses for the masses.
Furman has always had an exceptional talent for articulating emotional or mental confusion while lacing said turmoil with a pervasive joy that has the effect of pulling the listener in. "Wobbly"—which seems to be about the state of his relationship with his newfound gender identity and how it affects all of his relationships—seems underwritten but it still conveys a rapidly shifting perspective clearly. "Body Was Made" is the big statement here with Furman telling naysayers in regard to his new found gender freedom to, "just fucking relax." His conclusion is hardly profound but he nails what needs to be said while deflating all the controversy regarding gender fluid and trans individuals with blunt precision: "Your body is yours at the end of the day, and don't let the hateful try to take it away..."
If Perpetual Motion People feels like a madcap romp through Furman's brain, it says nothing for what went down with The Boyfriends in front of a packed Lincoln Hall, 2424 N. Lincoln Ave., on Aug. 11. There were hardy helpings of the new recording ( a clumsy but endearing "Wobbly," a ferocious "Body was Made," a furious "Restless Year," an engaging "Ordinary Life" ) but only a dollop of the finest in his discography ( an elegant "Mysterious Power," a biting "American Soil," a heartbreaking "My Zero," an incendiary "Tell 'em All to Go to Hell" ).
It didn't really matter if some of his classics were missing ( "Take Off Your Sunglasses," "Bloodthirsty Whore," "Are You Gonna Break My Heart?" and "Portrait of Maude" ) since The Boyfriends proved just as loopy as the front man. Ben Johnson ( keys and guitar ) and Sam Durkes ( drums ) looked as if they had seen it all before and kept failing at keeping a straight face the entire night. Bassist Jorgen Jorgensen ( who kept teetering on his toes while having way too much fun with the doo-wop chorus of "Lousy Connection" ) and saxophonist Tim Sandusky ( who essentially went apeshit the entire show ) gave Furman a run for his money. This "concert" was really one big sloppy glob of a jolly mess which ended with Furman doing something so completely inane that one could doubt his sanity; he closed the night with an explosively joyful jam through the ancient Rita Coolidge snoozer, "( Your Love has Lifted Me ) Higher and Higher."
Any other time I would bet that this was a joke, but Furman was so overcome with happiness ( this hometown date was the last show of a world tour ) and spontaneity that he was being nakedly sincere. God bless him for that.
