Crack

It’s been a pretty good 12 months for Howler. Since breaking onto the musical landscape last year with their EP entitled This One’s Different, the painfully young and energetic Minneapolis outfit have generated a significant amount of hype and plaudits, with broadly painted but highly favourable comparisons to the Strokes’ ultimately era-defining arrival in 2001. So with this month’s release of the band’s debut LP America Give Up comes a sense of anticipation – not so much for an indie-garage revival as for an indication of whether their sound actually lives up to the buzz which surrounds it.

In short, it does. But as the band emerge from the crowd and take to the Louisiana stage, the first thing which comes to the attention is just how young they really are. In spite of the title of their first full-length release, the quintet appear to bear all the hallmarks of nineteen-year-old pups from across the Atlantic who’ve just touched down in a land not constrained by over-21 drinking laws. There’s the trendy hairstyles; the cockish, elliptical, half-jocular banter; and, perhaps most noteworthy of all, their appeasing bottle of Jack Daniels atop the bass stack. It would be no injustice to plainly state they’re here to have a good time (who could blame them?), and it’s precisely the band’s youthful, charged yet also charmed arrogance that infuses their songs and drives the performance.

Bursting out of the blocks with vim and gusto, the recipe as far as the songs go is simple: two and a half minute gushes of crashing guitars and drums, interspersed with neat little riffs and hooks you can really hang onto. Comparisons with the Strokes circa Is This It do spring to mind and can’t be denied, with soaring guitar lines weaving in and out of deceptively simple drumming – This One’s Different clearly referencing Hard To Explain in parts. In fact, the band seem unashamed to play up to their Strokes deference. Mid-set, frontman Jordan Gatesmith sheds his guitar to tightly grip the mic, cock his head to the left and shift the unfocused gaze of his derelict eyes towards the back of the room in a way even Mr Casablancas would approve of (albeit disaffectedly). Gatesmith’s easy delivery oozes insouciance to the point that, in Back to the Grave, the lines ‘Where will you be / In 2023? / In someone else’s arms / But not with me’ could easily reflect muted regret as they could relief.

Most striking of all, however, is the sheer volume at which the set is ploughed through. The songs each have their melodies and moments – the choppy, angst-fuelled Told You Once being a case in point – yet it’s the underbelly of noise provided by the surge, rattle and roar of the rockabilly-style hollowbody guitar which brings the much-needed kick and bite that transforms something decent into something that genuinely makes you feel invincible (or at least in the mood to make out). Fittingly, that’s exactly what the raucous, frenetic Wailing (Making Out) does. It grabs you and doesn’t let go.

Following the blistering set and brief encore, Gatesmith smiles wryly. “Seriously guys, that’s it. We literally don’t have any other songs we can play together”. Given the straightforward nature of the performed tracks, and the premature age of those performing, we might just believe him.

So that’s it. Are Howler the Next Big Thing? With a few more songs – yes. They probably are.



- - - - - - - - - -

Words: Fred Yeast