The Strange Boys, Be Brave

On Be Brave, The Strange Boys are often amiable and miles from snide--no easy feat for youngsters belonging to the wave of post-Black Lips southern garagers. The Lips, their slimy charm practically seeping through speakers, don't provide an apt sonic or aesthetic reference point. The Strange Boys often sound like trainhopping, post-depression folkie anarchists that stumbled upon an anachronistic stack of mid-60's garage obscurities (or at least a group of kids that starting spinning Beggar's Banquet and The Basement Tapes instead of the usual Sonics' records) rather than menacing rockers you wouldn't want to meet in the proverbial dark alley. Besides, the breezy, sun-dappled and stoned sounds on tracks such as "Da Da" and "Dare I Say" suggest that you'd be much more likely to meet The Strange Boys trying to trade a song for a ride in the back of a greasy pickup.
Lead singer Ryan Sambol's decision to fully exploit the genial croak in his sandpapery voice lends a sort of vulnerable authenticity to the proceedings by conjuring images of a shoeless Huck Finn type. Though his words are typically funny in ponderous or melancholic ways ("Sex is like laughter/You do it differently with different people/And sometimes feel sick after") they're also surprisingly direct. The political affectations of the Texas quintet's debut are dramatically contextualized and reposited here as philosophical protest music playful enough to bring a cracked grin to Woody Guthrie's face--"The man stays the same/The only thing that changes is his face/They never tell you that in class/'Cuz if they did, you'd never come back," goes one youthfully illuminated lament.
The general bluesy clatter and slow-motion prom songs they made their name on are largely absent here. They've breathed in the Austin air and crafted a strangely affecting, humorous record of Americana garage pop. The lo-fi haziness hasn't gone anywhere, but The Boys now use it as a textural complement to their antiquated, organic tunes. Instead of concealing sonic and emotional uncertainty, as is common to tapes-only rockers everywhere, the analogue sound unifies Be Brave by coating everything with a melancholic sepia glaze. While the record is an often sparse, humorous homage to the bygone days of dusty American myth, there are just enough psych-adornments (the loopy sax on the title track, the organ on "Friday in Paris," and the xylophone on "I See" are highlights) to allow The Strange Boys to skirt the cloying stagnations that can befall period obsessives. Sambol's engaging everyman truisms also help to buoy Be Brave above stuffy, self-serious nostalgia.
While Be Brave certainly dials down the noise of the Texan's debut, it is still the work of unabashed garagers that probably spend more time listening to 60's soul rave-ups than Dust Bowl Ballads. In fact, the best song is the infectious "Be Brave," which finds The Boys in swinging, stomping, call-and-response blue-eyed soul territory. Not every song sticks as much as this could-be anthem, though. A couple of the barest, piano-driven tracks barely sustain their momentum for the length of their running time despite the fact that most songs are under three minutes. The young Texans might have been wise to add a few more curious embellishments or at least upped the quotient of chugging guitars and early rock'n'roll piano which so convincingly evoked the feeling of watching endless miles of empty plains disappear through a bus window on "A Walk on the Beach."
That said, The Strange Boys have stumbled on a fairly original, almost always friendly, and often captivating sound. While too many of their peers get by on snarling punk attitude, Be Brave finds success through a genuine, ragged tunefulness. However, if they continue to churn out songs as confident as the title track, these innocents (the record's sex song is awfully queasy) will be jaded by indie-niche stardom in no time.