| Lostage |
| Indie
rock, as bland and malleable as that term may be, still has a typical,
definable sound…or maybe it's better to say aesthetic. It can often be
defined for what it isn't: it's not slick, it's not flashy, it's not
driven by showmanship. Even the more dynamic stuff often retains a
underlying starkness, a sound-of-the-room ambience that underscores the
idea that what you're hearing is not some elaborately layered studio
confection, but rather the sound of a bunch of people making it happen
in real time. It's an approach which presents unique (and often
unconquerable) challenges to artists that take it on, in that there are
only so many ways to make the fundamentally straightforward sound
passionate and honest. More often than not, it sounds like a flat mix
of generic production and obligatory chest clutching, an attempt to
pass off formulaic banality as earnest. Unpretentious? Or just
unambitious? Lostage, in this sense, have the deck stacked against them. Easy to forget name, typical arrangements, loud/soft song structures, vocals by a guy who won't be asked to give voice lessons any time soon. Even the artwork of their (self titled) album is about as creative as the disc's name, and their web presence is modestly unspectacular. Throw them in the everything-really-does-sound-the-same Japanese indie scene, and you're left with the question: Do these guys actually have anything to say? Or are they yet another collective of everyday guys who stand around with their creative hands in their pockets, hoping fame will strike because…well, just because? Lostage don't seem to be trying very hard to sidestep these issues, and the band's tendency to adhere to genre conventions often masks some enticing surprises. "ひとり" ("Hitori," i.e. "Just One") was about half over before it hit me that it was essentially Led Zeppelin's "Four Sticks" dressed in thrift store clothing. "断層" ("Dansou, i.e. "Fault") takes it one step further, blues riffage and slide guitar swagger mutated to the point that it becomes something else entirely, while still packing an almighty wallop. "裸婦" ("Rafu," i.e. "Nude Woman") adds an appropriately sleazy sax to a libidinous blues jazz shuffle that's equal parts King Crimson and "How Many More Times." "カナリア" ("Canaria") is "Immigrant Song" re-imagined as a math rocky blurt. It would be disingenuous (not to mention supremely unfair) to saddle the band with too many overt Page/Plant comparisons; culturally speaking, the two aren't even on the same planet, and vocalist Takahisa Gomi is about as far from a Robert Plant figure as could be imagined. But in a pure rock power sense, there's a grandiose yet earthy friction in the meaty rhythms and arrogant guitar bursts that shares an undeniable kinship with "In My Time Of Dying" and "Nobody's Fault But Mine." But the pull is not on loan from the other, better known group, but rather comes from a natural, powerful musical interplay that can't simply be borrowed. Lostage undoubtedly found their own way to where they are now, and that place shares musical DNA with some of the best. Putting that loaded comparison aside, Lostage loses a bit of heft when they move from earth swallowing rock pounding to more typical atmosphere driven indie pop, but the results can still worm their way into your psyche. "Tobacco" and "Baron" are catchy, Foo Fighters-esque rave ups, and "夜に月" ("Yoru Ni Tsuki," i.e. "Last Month") takes a panoramic Swervedriver engine and weds it to sweetly melancholy harmonies. Lostage, the album, has plenty of steam on its own, but the Nara three piece has some growing to do. The above mentioned musical sparks only emerge from behind the band's unassuming exterior over time. You explain this by calling the album a grower, but that's not quite accurate, as the real meat comes from a tight, delirious power, not from subtle shades. No, more accurate to say that Lostage need to flesh out an identity that stands up to their awesome musical punch. If the band can shed the numbingly typical genre elements and embrace their musical fire in a more complete, more individual way, they'll inevitably find their own personal Valhalla. |