French Kicks, Swimming

by Gordon Lamb
04/08/2008

Easily the most aptly named record to come out this season, Swimming sees New York’s French Kicks finally establishing its own identity. The album yearns and swoons in a seductive manner, not unlike the moment one has just prior to waking.

Produced entirely by the band, the album is confidently understated. That is, it’s far from bold but, rather, resolutely quiet. If anything, it recalls memories of the 1990’s home-recording phenomenon which saw bands retreating from traditional studio environments and into their basements, side-rooms and bedrooms. Still, for as close-to-the-source as the album sounds, it doesn’t feel particularly intimate. The airy vocals are nearly indecipherable, except for very specific instances such as the refrain of “I was carried away” during “Carried Away.” Where this type of recording ushered in an entire generation of R.E.M. fans, each feeling like they knew what Stipe was mumbling about, it’s less clear that this will work for French Kicks.

That said, Swimming is gorgeous at times. The echo-drenched “New Man” features a deliberate rhythm underneath the semi-urgent vocal and post-punk-catalog guitar riff. The main guitar hook is lifted directly from The Cure’s 1985 B-side “The Exploding Boy.” Oddly enough, this doesn’t detract from the song.

The soft, 1970’s gospel of “Said So What” is kind of off-putting in that it just doesn’t feel whole. In fact, a lot of Swimming doesn’t feel complete. Whereas the albums lack of studio sheen is a welcome factor, the half-finished ideas that pepper the record are less compelling. The aforementioned “Said So What” could have benefited greatly from a little more tweaking and “Atlanta” is simply an irritating, hollow-drummed thing with vibrato riffing littering the listener's ears.

There are, however, moments of pure beauty, such as the opening track “Abandon” and the pop-mandolin (or possibly ukulele) featured on the deeply groovy “Love In The Ruins." In particular, the track builds from a simply acoustic chord progression into a light-bass oriented, haunting track.

French Kicks have made a fine record here. It suffers from all the previously mentioned faults but, overall, it’s hardly despicable. That the band have taken their recording into their own hands is admirable and is a situation that should anticipate some stumbling. And they do stumble, but never do they fall.

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