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Motel Creeps:
Pleasantries in the Parlor EP
As soon as you hear this EP, you cant help but think of three more famous bands: U2, Interpol and the Smiths. A quartet from New York City, Motel Creeps opens its debut with a hook-y reverb-soaked guitar riff that screams contemporary Edge. Soon follows the smooth tenor of a less heated Bono, less aggressive Paul Banks or less dark Morrissey. Its certainly not an unpleasing start, but it becomes immediately apparent that solid as it may be, this isnt going to be an exciting new record. But as the opening song arrives at its denouement, the guitarist suddenly breaks into an extended bit of rock riffin that could have come from November Rain or another late-period Guns N Roses power ballad. Although his tone doesnt change, this burst of solo-style guitar is completely incongruous and puzzling. It fails to save the song from being uninteresting, and in fact takes away from the one thing that made it go down smoothly in the first place: its familiarity. Track two is more up-tempo than the first, but somehow no more exhilarating. It has the stamp of the 80s all over it, but unlike the popular electro-clash groups that have exploited the dance aspects of that decadent decade, here Motel Creeps pulls from the smoldering wreckage of the treble-obsessed hair metal and pop bands of the era. Called City Girl, the song addresses a woman who spends all my money powdering your nose / always the life of the party. Of course, the narrator is smitten with this supposedly intriguing character and says he will love her until the day I die. I had to wonder at this point if the four guys in the band are actually Long Island or Jersey transplants, as they sound just a little too impressed with club drug use and staying out late. As the singer croons about Whippin' through the Village in stereo / On a Lower East Side joy ride, I could only laugh, picturing his formerly-sheltered self in a state of awe, hopping from one cheesy yuppie bar to another in that gentrified area. Once again, the track ends with some out of place, amped-up 80s metal guitar riffing. The third tune, Gun for Hire, kicks off with a promising guitar line just as the first song did, but has the least effective vocal part of all the tracks. The lead singer goes for a deeper, more breathy delivery that just doesnt have the power and gravity of feeling the singers mentioned above can muster. It comes off as contrived as he laments here comes our disaster / living younger / and were dying faster. While the guitarist turns toward the guitar theatrics of Television for his solo in this tune, he doesnt have the cred to pull it off convincingly. At its start, track four is probably the best of the bunch musically. The guitar has a more unique color than elsewhere, and theres some welcome aggressive edge in its attack. The bass and drums come more to life here as well. The singer is also at his best with a gentle, detached air to his delivery that creates a nice tension; as he tries to keep things understated and in control, the instruments beneath are excitedly bubbling right under the surface. But when things finally come to a head, its with the same inexplicable 80s metal riffing weve heard earlier. Maybe its just me, but I cant come to terms with Slash manifesting himself in the midst of these otherwise decent if unoriginal indie rock tunes. Motel Creeps want to create a lush, stargazer-esque atmosphere, but the absolutely awful guitar soloing kills the mood every time, and the lyrical content leaves a lot to be desired. Perhaps with age and a new axe slinger, Motel Creeps will be able to turn out more satisfying indie-lite. Until then, Im sure thisll do on the Lower East Side.
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