Kamikaze Girls
Sad
(Bearded Punk Records / Wiretap Records)
In the 1991 dramedy L.A.Story, Steve Martin says with tongue-in-cheek, “I was deeply unhappy, but I didn’t know it because I was so happy all the time.” There’s some valuable truth in that absurdist quote. Kamikaze Girls recognize this outlook in a parallel universe—singer Lucinda Livingstone is up front about her struggles with mental health issues and has been professing for a while that it’s okay to be sad. We’re not talking about songwriting about chrysanthemums of white or fog for goth’s sake. It’s just a healthy approach whether you battle inner demons daily or have a standard down day. You have to recognize the glum to embrace the gold.
On their EP Sad, Livingstone and co-conspirator Conor Dawson expose their darkest hours in a cobweb of disorienting fuzz. Tuned down notes linger, sounding distant as though they’re being heard through an unclear head. The effect conveys a numb feeling, as though you’re being placed into the mindset of one of Livingstone’s inner battles. Dawson puts down rapid snare batterings as Livingstone transforms her somber, soft voice into a fit of tormented rage. The vocal bend and pedal-heavy tunes effectively conjure early Sleater-Kinney in the back lobes of your brain.
“I Hate Funerals” begins with the title being moaned out like someone being drug somewhere they really didn’t want to go again. That’s fitting, because there isn’t often much “fun” in fun-eral. Slow riffs chop up and down the guitar neck in a steady, reluctant pace. Deep notes pump on the drum like a heartbeat sloshing its way to a final beat. Livingstone angrily yells, “I hate everyone” and declares giving up on smiling. The mood comes across crystal clear that the track crawls from the sorest fissures of her well-being. It’s incredibly dark.
Immense inspiration of morose Joy Division and angsty garage bands collide with a crisp pop appreciation. “Lady Fuzz” calms things down with curious hands plucking light guitar melodies. The innocent play of clumsy notes sweetly guides the track that encounters heavy buzzing chords and a violent storm of crunching layers. The duo harmonize gentle choruses as all of the pieces fall into rhythm with each other. It feels like a symbolic turn in the short five-track EP that offers optimism in the tormented shadows looming from preceding tracks.
It’s a quarter of a century too late to match Steve Martin’s style of existentialism, but Sad displays painful moments well and soundtrack opportunities are not lost. With its rich, bitter emotion it could just as easily fall into a teen drama today however. (That’s not necessarily a slam.)
