There seems to be a mammoth increase in bands returning to classic, or certainly structurally classic ways of songwriting at the minute. Girls are a band that wholly embraced this notion and continue to do so on their latest LP. They are also a band that have made some giant leaps; while their debut LP fuzzed with youthful charm and rambunctious spirit, their ensuing EP, Broken Dreams Club, was a monumental step forward, a tightly concocted series of songs that radiantly shined, the production was so polished. Father, Son, Holy Ghost finds them sitting right between the two in terms of production value, but somewhere else altogether in the songwriting stakes.
Lead single 'Honey Bunny' is the most Girls-like track on the album; rapid-fire drums ring out while surf guitars strut their way through the song in its short two-minute burst. Christopher Owens sings, “they don’t like my bony body, they don’t like my dirty hair, or the stuff that I say, or the stuff that I’m on,” which already alludes mere minutes into the album to drug issues - issues which, as I write this, have been confirmed by Owens, him telling Pitchfork, “I struggle with an addiction to serious, very heavy opiates.” So, Father, Son, Holy Ghost will no doubt be coined "Girls' drug album".
Girls have been a greatly hyped, much loved and considered a very hip band since their inception, so it’s with great humour that they have written a song that seems to emulate one of those most unhip bands you could possibly listen to right now - flat out guitar-riff ballbuster ‘Die’ is pure Led Zepplin. It’s also insanely catchy, as they seem to delve further into the world of classic rock.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost is an album that can wash over you if you’re not careful. At times, it seems to toil in a middle ground that can border on the forgettable, as it breezes by in a series of mid-tempo indie-pop romps. But revisiting proves crucial - ‘Myma’, for example, is a delicate and wonderfully executed slice of pop that nods back to the '60s with pulsating, glistening organ backing soulful yet subtle female backing singers. ‘Vomit’ is as fragile as it is erratic and encapsulates the appeal of the group as a whole. ‘Just a Song’ is perhaps the album's most personal, introspective and open moment; further nods to drug abuse are ripe in the confessional and gentle lyrics.
Girls seem to be continuing in the fashion set by their EP; rarely does a song dip below four minutes, and they often stretch to over six. Five of the twelve songs that marked the debut were all two-minute-something songs, short sugary busts of pop that were fresh, zealous and infectious. Perhaps the progression from experimentation into addiction is mirrored in the music here - we’re in it for the long haul, things have gotten weird, long and expansive. While the album has undeniably spread its roots, it retains a sense of attraction and enticement that gripped so many in the first place. It still sounds like Elvis Costello and it still sounds great.