The Gods Themselves Go Big on “Be My Animal”
If this country is fixing to journey through Hell in a red-state-ribboned hand-basket brandished by stubby orange fingers, I want the soundtrack to that odyssey to be something that swaggers like a cocky middleweight, reaches for the stars, parties like a hedonistic mofo, and sets my ass to motion with unstoppable style and groove.
Be My Animal, the third (and best) full-length release from Seattle rock trio The Gods Themselves, accomplishes all those things and more. The only question in my mind isn’t whether it’ll shape up to be one of the best Northwest Music releases of the year: It’s whether I’ll hear anything better from a Northwest band in 2017. Yeah, it’s that good.
And it’s that ambitious. Be My Animal takes The Gods Themselves’ overall sound— a mutant mixture of new wave’s sleek catchiness, caveman garage rock thud, and a sense of scrappy house-party danceability—then one-ups it with a faultless set of tunes and truly epic (self-) production.
That expansiveness begins on the album’s opening title track. Co-lead singer Astra Elane’s disembodied narration and singing trace a high school girl’s devotion to her motorcycle-gang boyfriend in textbook “Leader of the Pack” style, as drummer Collin O’Meara lays down a fat battle-march of a backbeat and Elane’s and co-lead singer Dustin Patterson’s lead and baritone guitars soar, divebomb, and slash. It’s a classic girl-group pop song launched into the upper atmosphere with shoegazer swirl and scraping riffs.
Two of the band’s greatest straight-up pop songs live on this record. Substitute tech bros for shallow fashion followers, and the insidiously catchy “Tech Boys” betrays its spiritual kinship with David Bowie’s “Fashion.” The aptly-titled “COOL,” previewed in these virtual pages, sees Elane purring out sultry Debbie Harry-esque vocals over a dead-sexy, stripped-down bassline and high-hat. And one of TGT’s hardest-rocking tracks, a vicious and spastic post-punk/surf rock shotgun wedding called “Speak in Tongues,” kicks up a storm around the album’s halfway mark.
But one of the calling cards of Be My Animal, and arguably the thing that makes it special, is its very 21st-century ability to vault onto unapologetically weird tangents while still reveling in its catchiness. “St. Mary” strides along a snapping bass, sparse drums, and Elane’s most arch deadpan singing before busting out a chorus as heady and beguiling as the geo-banana kush the song’s referencing. “So Hot” hurtles a dog whistle, O’Meara’s glam stomp, Patterson’s heavy low-end guitar, Elane’s empowered touch-chick bravado, and a trippy psych-rock bridge into a song that could be a cheerleader’s anthem, if said cheerleader was Frankenstein’s daughter.
Be My Animal climaxes with “Alone,” an ode to solitude that starts out serpentine and sensual, with Patterson crooning in suavely Bowie-esque fashion until he yowls out, “Why go out when I feel more at home?” like David Byrne about to go Psycho Killer for real. Then the song downshifts back into coiled sensuality before Patterson’s scream ushers in a burst of buzzing-hornet psychedelic guitars, relentless piano notes, and squawking saxophone. It’s the sound of barely-controlled chaos being navigated to hook-laden clarity by a band at the height of its powers—a tightrope walk shared by the other eight tracks on this great record.
The Gods Themselves celebrate the official January 20 release of Be My Animal with a record release party at Chop Suey January 19. Tickets here.
