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The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart formed in New York in 2007 and released two EPs before this album (many of the tracks from those are included here). The band's sound has remained essentially unchanged from their early work (no fumbling about or struggling to perfect their aesthetic) and there is no need for it to evolve. Despite their youth, they have nevertheless managed to combine the best elements of several different scenes and avoid their perils and self-indulgences: jangly and ringing C86 guitars, the adrenaline and hookiness of the Ramones, shoegazer fuzz and reverbed vocals (sans mopery), and the wry literacy of the better Sarah Records bands.
One unexpected facet of The Pains is the frequent raunchiness of their lyrics. Usually bands of this ilk tend to fixate on break-ups, unrequited love, being sad, etc. The soft-spoken dual vocals of Kip and Peggy (not very rock and roll names, I'm afraid) certainly sound like they would be conveying sensitive, bookish content. However, the lyric sheet is full of lines like "you don't have to dress to please, perhaps undress for me" or the far more eyebrow-raising "in a dark room we can do just what we like, you're my sister and this love is fucking right!". It is refreshing that someone has finally corrected the long-standing and frustrating dearth of overt incest references and saucy double entendres in the genre. Thanks for nothing, Close Lobsters!
Just about all of the songs on the album are bouncy and hook-filled, but two stand out as particularly infectious. "Young Adult Friction" combines a muscular drumbeat, organ, and cool male-female vocal harmonies to tell a tale of hot teen library sex. This is a particularly cunning example of how the band manages to be literary (libraries are wicked literary), yet thankfully avoids being fey, overly serious, or self-important. It even features some charmingly groan-inducing wordplay ("I never thought I would come of age, let alone on a moldy page"). Meow.
"A Teenager In Love" is an absolutely perfect pop song that kicks off with a punky drumbeat, frantically strummed acoustic guitar, and a bitchin' keyboard hook. Then everything drops out for the verses, leaving only the wistful vocals and the relentlessly buoyant rhythm section. It is dynamically effective, catchy as hell, and adds weight to the chorus (when everything returns). There are also some nice Marr-esque ringing arpeggios near the end. While not as lyrically libinal as some other tracks on the album, there is still some bite ("you don't need a friend when you're a teenager in love with Christ and heroin"). I will be very surprised if I hear a better indie pop song this year.
Another thing that The Pains have borrowed from the Ramones is brevity. The ten songs on this album barely exceed half an hour—all thriller, no filler. This is an excellent album.
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