This year, My Chemical Romance will have been off hiatus for the same length of time that they were on it. Across both periods, they’ve released the exact same amount of new music—one song apiece.
Does that have anything to do with L.S. Dunes? Not directly, but there’s an interesting nugget of perspective in there. It’s common knowledge that vast throngs of the alternative community worship the ground that MCR walk on, to where there’s honestly nothing they can’t get away with. Had any band not called My Chemical Romance returned after nearly a decade with such mediocre remittance as The Foundations Of Decay, with more nothing to follow for a good couple of years after, there’d be far more cross words thrown their way. So when you extend that near-holy grace to their most prolific member, a pattern certainly forms. Would the various Frank Iero-branded garage-punk scrap-fests have been platformed out of obscurity without his name attached? And although it might seem like a different case for L.S. Dunes, it’s really not. Without Frank Iero, L.S. Dunes would almost certainly be a fraction of what they currently are.
It’s just Iero, too. The supergroup branding hangs overhead, but it’s objectively wrong to say there’s equal weight between one of the scant rock phenomena of the 21st Century, and guys from Circa Survive, Thursday and Coheed And Cambria. Perhaps if their synergy routinely produced mind-melting emo opuses befitting of stalwarts of the scene, that’d be a different matter. The truth is, though, L.S. Dunes have never been that great. They’re not awful, either, but even a cursory listen is all the evidence needed that their momentum is provided almost solely by one little man’s legs. It was true on Past Lives,and there’s not a great change made for Violet. At least now there’s an easier explanation than “it just doesn’t stick”.
For the record, Violet doesn’t all that much, either. For all the pound-for-pound melodic chops that L.S. Dunes carry among their ranks, it appears exceptionally difficult for them to formulate a strong endpoint. The one song that actually bothers to put the hooks out for a chance at latching on is Machines, thanks to some classic-rock licks and the kind of inflated chorus that, bizarrely, is in short supply here. The feel of Violet is one of fluidity in its execution, but also stoicism for how that doesn’t really grow or move. It’s contained rather crampedly in its emo paddock, if its musical size and shape are anything to go off.
As for the production, where L.S. Dunes felt a bit more simpatico with it last time, here they can be bluntly cut down at the knees. It’s frankly astounding how small and hemmed-in it can be, and the stiffness and strain in playing that it causes. Perhaps it’s supposed to be indicative of tension or pressure buildup, but that’s an exceptionally generous read. It’s almost impossible to buy on a song like Paper Tigers, trundling along via drippy grunge progressions and a slice of guitar that’s audibly jerky and rigid. Considering this band’s axe-section is helmed by members of My Chemical Romance and Coheed And Cambria, that’s borderline unforgivable. Might as well throw Forgiveness into that indictment, too, where the closest thing to opulence in the L.S. Dunes catalogue is an underpowered bit of strings, unable to stir much passion as the sit limp and static amid the negative space.
Presumably, the aim is to reclaim the old DIY spark that these guys would’ve started out with. It’s not a half-hearted effort to do so, clearly; Will Yip is on production with a track record that screams from the rooftops, let alone speaks for itself. To an extent, then, you can be appreciative of what L.S. Dunes do. Closer in scale to the Circa Survive or Thursday side of their arsenal, the effort to preserve a scrappier, homespun feel is commendable when big rockstars are on the flanks. Especially as far as Iero’s involvement is concerned, there’s a love of making music like this, which is why the bad stuff is never maliciously so, and the good stuff does stick out. Just take You Deserve To Be Haunted, the album highlight by simple virtue of wanting to be a Refused song, almost exactly to the same tone and tempo with its pounding guitars and Anthony Green’s screams.
Green himself is another big point in L.S. Dunes’ favour, though one that is also probably a bit more contentious. Yes, his high-registered voice is definitely an acquired taste, but the wealth of character it has automatically puts paid to any notions ‘not being genuine’. You don’t make a band like this out of anything other than genuine intent if, in its very first seconds, you separate you likely-divisive vocalist from all musical backing to croon and prostrate unsupported. When it does happen on Like Magick, it’s actually one of the album’s highlights, simply for how well the starkness resonates (particularly in full context when, elsewhere, those instances are few and far between).
The thing with Violet is how its best moments are exactly that—moments. Rarely does a full song land as ‘the one’, but compile the good stuff together and it averages out enough. Tim Payne’s bass probably stands most consistently throughout in that regard, mixed for a lot of presence and allowed some really strong showcases like its stride on Holograms. The other standouts are a lot more sporadic—the classic-rock sizzle of I Can See It Now…’s guitar; the violent punch-ins of screams that tie the title-track together; the brighter power-pop sensibilities on Machines. They come and they go, not ideal for the basis of a full album, but probably combined to make the strongest bunch of assets that L.S. Dunes have had yet.
Of course, the luxury of viewing that in a vacuum is not one that’s easily afforded, not when there’s a full album to deal with that also has its fair share of duds. It’s the eternal frustration with L.S. Dunes, a band comprised of genuinely talented musicians from all-timer bands, coming together to make so little of the same. Violet might be better than its predecessor, but it’s by a miniscule increment. This still isn’t a very memorable album, for one; for another, it shows its seams an inordinate amount more than a release of its stature should. And while L.S. Dunes don’t explicitly tout their star power as a safety net, you almost feel as though this whole thing has been manufactured in such a way to make that inevitable. No one is going wild for L.S. Dunes; people will for one particular name attached. Ergo, there’s benefit through status and longevity that, otherwise, mightn’t have been achieved. Somewhere among that, there’s also music being made.
For fans of: Circa Survive, Thursday, Can’t Swim
‘Violet’ by L.S. Dunes is released on 31st January on Fantasy Records.
Words by Luke Nuttall
