Peter Bjorn and John
Living Thing
(Almost Gold)
The problem with Peter Bjorn and John’s new album, Living
Thing, is not that it fails to live up to their outstanding 2006
single “Young Folks”; it’s that it fails to live up to the album on
which that song appeared, the excellent and hit-heavy Writer’s
Block. (For the sake of this review, we’re ignoring the
semi-instrumental
diversion Seaside Rock, because really no
one’s even heard that record.) Not only is there no inescapable
whistle-along here, there’s nothing approaching excellent deeper cuts
like “Let’s Call It Off,” “Up Against the Wall,” or “Chills”—not
even close.
Lead single “Nothing to Worry About” is in fact quite worrisome, its
clipping kids’ chorus sounding like a lame, late attempt at replicating
Justice’s “D.A.N.C.E.,” its lazy R&B never quite warranting such a
large-scale ensemble. “I’m Losing My Mind” is incessantly repetitive,
but mere repetition can’t hammer its chorus into anything resembling a
hook. The faux Afro-pop of the title track recalls (most recently) Hot
Chip’s “One Pure Thought,” but with far less energy or
impact—PB&J’s sharp, delayed guitar, rising bass, and
tumbling chorus just almost building up some excitement. Most of the
album is just forgettably pleasant—”I Want You!” or “Just the
Past,” for instance, make for easy listening but hard remembering.
Closest to past heights is perhaps “Blue Period Picasso” or “It
Don’t Move Me,” the latter’s echoing bass line, tense rhythm, and vocal
cadences sounding like a watered-down Writer’s Block–era
verse. “Lay It Down” is a nice surprise, if just for the swinging,
kiss-off chorus that kicks off the song: “Hey, shut the fuck up,
boy/You are starting to piss me off”—it’s the album’s best (and
most sing-along-worthy) moment by far, but it’s just not going to sound
the same on the radio.
Living Thing is well made, in a kind of technical sense.
Peter Bjorn and John are capable musicians, singers, and studio hands,
and the album’s sounds are fine enough—especially nice is the
sense of space on this album, percussion clatters around in the far
corners of songs, and fingers sliding up fret boards echo through the
room—they’re just lending their skills here to a batch of
inferior, almost unfinished-sounding songs. 