wolves & wolves & wolves & wolves
The Cross and the Switchblade
(Wiretap Records)
As a genre, “pop-punk” doesn’t quite capture wolves & wolves & wolves & wolves’s style or sound.
Certainly, there’s no questioning their punk-rock pedigree. Their songs have always been gritty, but better resemble coarse salt than wet sand: Bright and clear—never greasy or smudgy or sloppy. Really, it’s only the “pop” part of this designation that seems contentious.
And yet, The Cross and the Switchblade, their second full-length, is as catchy as anything with that “pop” label pinned to its lapel. Take the title track, which begins so simply, with robust strokes of acoustic guitar and a whistling organ, but rapidly builds into a soaring, singalong chorus; here, singer Brian Woodall’s voice is so melodic, so confident and fierce despite its coarse texture. On songs like “More Than Sound,” his lyrics crack over a lone guitar whose chords—not quite clean, only subtly distorted—mimic his voice; when rest of the band kicks its way into the song, it becomes obvious that each instrument enables the next—how the bucking bass whips the drums into a frenzy, how one guitar’s searing lead scorches the other’s chords, how each rhythm and melody amplifies the desperation in Woodall’s voice, and how this desperation adds an anguished sort of urgency.
It’s this urgency that makes every track on The Cross and the Switchblade feel like it’s being pushed to its absolute limit. A song like “Always the Rebel,” with its skidding rhythm and hoarse harmonies, draws its energy from its brisk beat, rushing subtly like someone late on their first day. Others, like “Old Blood,” juxtapose negative space during each verse with a chorus like an overstuffed bouquet, blooming with busy chords and counter-rhythms, with harsh textures and smooth melodies. And then there’s opener “Give Me Conviction,” whose panicking, stampeding beat seems somehow so in control and precise.
If there’s a complaint about The Cross and the Switchblade, it’s that the entire LP feels like continuous peak; there’s so much emotion crammed into each track that there’s barely a chance for the listener to catch their breath. But, of course, this is also the appeal of wolves & wolves & wolves & wolves—that a ten-song record can be so cathartic and hook each of its melodies successfully in its listeners’ brains.
This is why “pop-punk” is such a problematic term; it struggles to accurately capture their style and sound, and somehow it fits with suspicious perfection.
Purchase The Cross and the Switchblade here.
