The Wrens are a thirty-something band staked in New Jersey and formed nearly a decade ago. Their last LP, Secaucus, was released in '96 and received critical acclaim, and yet it failed to cause a blip on the indie-pop sonar. I have not heard that album, mainly due to the fact that it's about as easy to find as the Ark of the Covenant, but many a source has hailed it as an underrated, 90's classic. Those glowing reviews, which I kept stumbling over from the beginning of the year until the end of summer, were what sparked my interest to check out the Wrens’ upcoming release, also their first in six years.
After finally reaching the release date of the desolately titled The Meadowlands, I immediately took the album home and gave it a proper listen. What I heard was partially expected, yet different at the same time. Every song seemed like it had its own life, almost as if each one were personally responsible for the band deciding to make the foray to begin with. It was one of the few times I wanted to soak in the songs individually, and several times before moving on to the next one. By the end of the album, I felt like I had just received a dizzying array of tunes that ranged in mood from mournful, bitter, pretty, jagged, poppy, wistful and bombastic.
Take, for instance, the wonderfully sweet She Sends Kisses and pair it with the hit-n-throttle of Per Second Second and you can hardly believe they’re on the same album and, what’s more, that they work so well together. Or take the painfully infectious Hopeless next to the sensory overload of Faster Gun and you’re left wondering that maybe your CD carriage rotated in between songs. Nine times out of ten, this format for making a record doesn’t work, and yet there’s been very few moments where I’ve felt this exhilarated after listening to an hour-long piece of music.
The Meadowlands also manages to do a wonderful balancing act with its mood and tone. Most of the album seems rather bitter and melancholy and yet it’s still able to sound so upbeat at the same time. There’s a definite pain theme riddled throughout the record, and one can’t help having a nagging sense that maybe these guys aren’t the cheeriest folk walking the planet. But doesn’t that often make the best kind of music? Ultimately, it’s that skewed pain that seems to make it sound so enticing. These guys may not be thrilled about what’s happened to them over the years, and about the way of the world in general, but they sure come off sounding ecstatic about being able to create such great music. -Scott Morris
The Wrens are a thirty-something band staked in New Jersey and formed nearly a decade ago. Their last LP, Secaucus, was released in '96 and received critical acclaim, and yet it failed to cause a blip on the indie-pop sonar. I have not heard that album, mainly due to the fact that it's about as easy to find as the Ark of the Covenant, but many a source has hailed it as an underrated, 90's classic. Those glowing reviews, which I kept stumbling over from the beginning of the year until the end of summer, were what sparked my interest to check out the Wrens’ upcoming release, also their first in six years. 