The Icarus Line - "Black Lives at the Golden Coast"

The Icarus Line - Frankfurt Smile (Dim Mak 2007)

The Icarus Line - Black Lives at the Golden Coast / Dim Mak

I have a theory about Buddyhead Records. Bear with me: I hadn't realized American Apparel carried free issues of Vice, so I made a point to go over there last week and pick one up (I can't really afford the clothing). As I was flipping through, I couldn't help but be reminded of Buddyhead in their heyday when art-damaged was in and fuck-you pretension was prima.

At the eye of this Los Angeles-bred storm of hipper-than-thou attitude and bird-flipping sass was The Icarus Line, partly because one of its members, Aaron North, was in the band. But Buddyhead as a label was actually pretty good: At the Drive-In, The Dillinger Escape Plan, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and Wire were among the groups that were featured on some of their releases. It was their website that basically took the piss on everyone and everything they could. Nothing was cool enough for Buddyhead, not even their own bands. Was it a joke or was it serious? That was never clear, but sometime after 2004's Penance Soiree and after North was drafted into Nine Inch Nails, they kind of stopped mattering. Kids had graduated to the next big thing: Vice. The circulation numbers won't lie.

I checked the credits for the latest issue, but I didn't recognize most of the names. My theory is that some of the people involved with Buddyhead's height have at least fraternized with the movers + shakers behind Vice; in any case, one is nearly directly derived from the other. Vice as a label is great, but reading their magazine religiously and loving it either means you have no idea who you are as a person or you're an overanalytical sociology student.

That's all an exhaustive way of reminding you not just of how the Internet used to be, but also how The Icarus Line used to be. We're a long way from Mono and the days when The Icarus Line were arguably rock's most exciting (and frightening) act. Penance Soiree was a huge step away from publishing celebrity's phone numbers and toward actual credibility beyond punk's flavor of the week, but Black Lives at the Golden Coast is an interesting retreat ever further removed from their self-destructive early years. Last year's Black Presents EP was the first signal of this seachange: With Tracks like "Cut Back the Heard" (which didn't make the final cut) and "FSHN FVR" (which did), the 'Line were looking to a different sound that fused their traditional abrasiveness and atonality with a moody, lurking post-punk sound. Diehards may hate it, but if you've somehow gotten by with ignoring The Icarus Line before, now is your chance to dive in. They're more accessible than ever.

Not that it's a bad thing. Black Lives at the Golden Coast is a different take on the hopelessness of Lost Angeles: This album is strongly influenced by mid-80s post-punk as played by Echo & the Bunnymen or The Church and early goth-rock like Bauhaus. The Icarus Line have always had a dark streak in them - after all, they were dressing in all black with red ties long before The Hives thought it was a good idea to dress modly - but it's really coming out in their music now. The guitar tones on "FSHN FVR" and "Slayer" sound straight off a Teardrop Explodes record, something I don't think anyone could've predicted six years ago. Or maybe they could, because if a punk band doesn't implode or become a parody of itself, it usually finds a way to change its sound through post-punk. Hey, the 80s happened the way they did for a reason. You can't go on wanting anarchy forever. Just ask John Lydon.

Their old vitriol is still there, but only just. It feels like you're walking in on the group already playing as "Black Presents" starts with feedback and the ever-muscular drumming of Jeff Watson. Rock n' roll swagger pops up here and there throughout the duration, including penultimate track "Golden Rush." The ultimate testament to The Icarus Line's evolution in sound is the concluding track, "Kingdom:" At eight minutes, it runs the gamut of psychedelic walls-of-noise and minimalist post-punk and garage-rock and everything else that this band could possibly incorporate into its sound (including both strings and, of course, horns... But we already covered that with Silver Daggers so I'll spare you). Frankly, Joe Cardamone's wailing has never sounded so fragile and unassured. Is this the sound of a band that's just now realizing the possibilities that lie beyond three-minute blasts of noise? Or is this the sound of a band that's about to self-destruct, as all great punk bands eventually do, just as they're reaching an important juncture in their sound? Will the fans follow?

Maybe it doesn't matter. Caught in their own world of a Lost Angeles scene that continues to be wrapped up in the self-importance of upholding the Left Coast, The Icarus Line have challenged themselves and come up blood-colored roses on Black Lives at the Golden Coast with arguably their finest hour. Now they're staring you straight in the eye and daring you to do the same; the only thing dividing you is a Vice review... Or maybe it's Buddyhead incognito. I can't tell the difference.