GIRLS - Father, Son, Holy Ghost

In tennis, there's a traditional gesture in response to an opponent's move that is so audacious, so improbable, and yet so peerlessly executed, that it renders you helpless to counter it. Instead of embarrassing yourself, you simply lower your head, raise your racquet and clap your other hand on the strings in appreciation of such a display of skill and class. The message: "Too good."

I can see how someone might attempt to refute the second full-length album by San Francisco's Girls. Throughout, it certainly cribs liberally from everyone from Big Star and Deep Purple to Pink Floyd and Wings. And then there's the whole hipster band du jour thing they've got going on (through no real fault of their own, but a charmed fate that's certain to rankle many). But much like that insanely angled forehead that's passes you at the net and clips the line with the accuracy of a sniper's bullet, you can make yourself look stupid trying to repel it, but you're better off raising your racquet and saying, "Too good."

Especially if it truly is too good and so much fun to appreciate. Love brisk, summer pop candy? It's got that. Into majestic odes to being brokenhearted propelled into the stratosphere by heady gospel wailing? Check. Need some of that luverly acoustic frailty that gets you all weak-kneed and misty-eyed? No worries. Dig on drugged-out guitar heroics that'll have you grabbing the nearest racquet for something other than tennis? Hello...it's here, too. But most importantly, for a band so loved by critics (and title aside), it's all done with a serious lack of obnoxious posturing or irony. It's honestly written, beautifully paced and very well-played.

Too good to refute. Too good to resist.

Comments

[Justin]

That was a preeeeetty sweet analogy. Good job.