REVIEW: Woolworthy, Sweet Second Place
- Steve Kandell
"The spirit of Bun E. lives in me," sings Woolworthy's Rudy Gonzales, a nod to perennially rumpled Cheap Trick drummer Bun E. Carlos. The two share not only a hometown of Chicago, but a penchant for crafting frenzied anthems based around thick hooks and thick harmonies. And even if Bun E. weren't name-checked, it wouldn't be too hard to figure out Woolworthy's influences and contemporaries. Be it emocore, post-punk, garage pop, or whatever the kids are calling it these days, the band's second self-released album consists of eleven straightforward, supercharged pop songs in the vein of fellow Midwestern upstarts Promise Ring and the Get-Up Kids, and one token ballad. The band offers little in the way of virtuosity or ingenuity, nor is any needed here. The aspirations are modest, and the results eminently enjoyable. That faint whooshing sound you hear is the sound of a thousand bespectacled young men bobbing their heads to the beat and air guitaring against their corduroy pants.
From the opening blast of "Leap Year," Woolworthy delivers nothing but wall to wall riffs and hooks, complete with the requisite earnest lyrics about desire unfulfilled and being fucked over. This is not to say that the music is tired or formulaic - it's familiar, but in the good, worn, favorite blue jeans kind of way. Though it may be hard to believe now, Soul Asylum and Goo Goo Dolls used to make records like this. Other comparisons could be made to Versus, Silver Scooter, and countless others, skin pasty from too much time in the garage or the van. What Woolworthy lacks in surprise is more than made up for with skill and spirit. "Starry Eyes" and "It's Good to See You Again" are standouts, asking the eternal question: "How old is too old to be jumping up and down on your bed, pretending you're onstage?" Answer: not 29. The hypercharged "5-Feet Nothing" may be a response to fellow Chicagoan Liz Phair's "6'1."" Or it may not be. But their hearts -what's left of them anyway - are in the right place. Woolworthy's D.I.Y. ethic also brings to mind a certain Chapel Hill-based punk-pop quartet, although it would be nice to write at least one Consumable review without mentioning the name Superchunk.
Shit.
