The phrase “style over substance” is often thrown out as a pejorative—especially in music critique. But to use that phrase as an insult misses just how much weight style can carry when done right.
Take, for instance, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, shoegazer-garage rock revivalists whose appeal is often distilled with a simple, “they’re just so freaking cool.”
That isn’t to say that there’s no substance here—there’s plenty. But these songs wouldn’t be nearly as irresistible if they weren’t marinated in the Cool factor and slow-roasted over a fire of leather jackets and Wayfarer jackets for a full twenty-four hours.
As ubiquitous as “Cool” is as a quality, it’s near impossible to define. There are the old 50s Greaser tropes sure—and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club has all of those in spades—but there are plenty of bands that cling to the same clichés without the same success. And besides, to say B.R.M.C. is a great album just because it’s cool misses the point.
It may be more meta than that. After all, in many ways, this album is the heir apparent of Psychocandy by Jesus and Mary Chain, another band whose appeal is largely due to their Cool factor. But even JAMC found success by taking old classic rock and roll formulas, dressing them in leather, and making them noisier.
In that way, B.R.M.C. hits like a shoegaze record in a traditional sense. Where most shoegazers look to My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive for their recipes, BRMC looks further back to JAMC, and perhaps even further beyond them to the bands that influenced the Reid Brothers, like T.Rex, Velvet Underground, and the Rolling Stones—all bands whose appeal is largely due to their Cool factor rather than their songwriting alone.
Ephemeral a quality as it may be though, there’s no denying that this record is Cool. Every second of it is wrapped up in a devil-may-care attitude that is necessary for these songs to land. From the opening straight ahead swagger of “Love Burns” to the dreamy closer “Salvation,” the image of moptops and cigarettes never lets up. While the vocals are sometimes delivered through a rebellious sneer (see: “Whatever Happened to My Rock and Roll? [Punk Song]“), they’re often sedate and dreamy, as if they can’t be bothered to care about whatever it is they’re singing about. But ironically, that apathetic delivery leads to some of the most affecting moments on the disc, such as the Verve-like “Awake,” the creeping, sprawling “As Sure as the Sun,” the blissful “Too Real,” and the dark breakup tune “Head Up High.”
There are also elements of Gospel and folk, which would be explored more deeply on their third album Howl (which desperately needs a reissue because I’m not paying $100 for that). “Take My Time/Rifles” opens with an acapella litany that almost sounds like Church camp (oddly, it’s attached to the ending of “As Sure as the Sun” on YouTube). The stompy, yowling “Spread Your Love” features a harmonica solo in place of a guitar. “White Palms” rambles like an irreverent street preacher, challenging Jesus on the timing of the Second Coming, even sneering, “Jesus, I dare You to come back.”
As of this writing, BRMC is still writing and recording music. Their eighth album, Wrong Creatures, came out in 2018. And disregarding the minor lane changes on the Americana-heavy Howl and the experimental, abstract Effects of 333, they haven’t veered very far from the same blueprint they laid down on B.R.M.C. But listening to this, why would they want to?