Will Schube is petitioning for a cross-pollination of St. Patrick’s Day and Cinco de Mayo
Three years ago, Harriet slept with all of your mothers (and yours and yours and yours). The track was emblematic of the L.A. group’s debut EP, Tell The Right Story. The record blends love-weary storytelling, catchy melodies and angular pop compositions with enough left turns to stay engaging.
Like “Mothers,” Harriet’s music is always both winking and shedding a tear. Singer Alex Casnoff’s predilection for romantic escapades doesn’t tire because his voice is powerful enough to pull these themes to newness. A little Leon Russell here, a little Jim Morrison there. Harriet has been under the radar for a while, but the group reemerged Tuesday with a self-titled EP, their first with the all-of-the-sudden giants over at Harvest Records.
“Irish Margaritas,” the EP’s first single, is LCD-lite. Tinny hi-hats and bleep-bloops evoke both 2001: A Space Odyssey and Coachella’s Sahara Tent, re-introducing a band that, even before their ‘hiatus,’ were one of L.A.’s most interesting. Harriet has an ability to appear simple by submerging complex subtleties to the lower ends of their music. This gives their work a thrust that’s not easily distinguishable but extremely important to the way it functions. On “Margaritas,” Casnoff sings,
“One more drink and I might tap you on the shoulder / Tell you babe you know it’s over / And I know that that’s a lie / I could take you higher / But I can’t take you home.”
The section’s first half serves as a pre-chorus of sorts, building tension with rising guitar before the ruckus drops away and the chorus glows with a sardonic edge. Snaps beat out handclaps for a breakdown accompaniment, then the group brings it back together for one final rendezvous.
On “Burbank,” the EP’s last track, a guitar progression is accompanied by an exaggerated slide-scratch that is normally avoided or minimized on guitar recordings. This inclusion gives a layer of texture important to a track with multiple facets and plateaus. Lyrically, it’s downcast and bleary—but as always, Casnoff can’t resist a quip:
“The cigarette / That held her lip / I’d get the pussy wet.”
The track yelps into new gear before all fades to dust and the song mirrors the world described. “We were in love,” he reflects with bite and regret. Casnoff’s words are so evocative, the music so complementarily clinical without losing aggressiveness, that as the track dissolves, you can’t help but hear those Bob Hope-destined planes cruising into the aforementioned Valley wasteland. Look up, and you’re there too.
Check out their new EP Harriet on iTunes
