One of the most important things I can do as a music critic is to reevaluate my preconceived notions. Hell, that’s also one of the most important things I can do as a music fan. Yes, life is too short to spend time with a book, show, album, or other piece of art you don’t enjoy. But it’s also too short to ignore an entire genre because of your historical biases.
This concept came into stark relief for me when I listened to As Blue As Indigo, the new release from Tigercub.
For all of the guitar rock music I enjoyed in my teens and the first half of my 20s, I never enjoyed the hard rock of the era. This includes anthemic post-grunge and nu metal, the heaps of bands spanning the wide gulf between Creed and KORN. All those overdriven guitars, dropped tunings, and overwrought angst struck me as wildly indulgent and uncreative. I might have loved Thrice and Thursday, but I did NOT like Linkin Park, Staind, and Breaking Benjamin.
So, when I first hear the opening strains of Tigercub’s new album on Blame Recordings, my ears were immediately confused. The relentless guitar assault of the title track dredged up memories of Hot Topic-clad kids moping aimlessly around a suburban mall. Yet, I made myself sit still with the music and peel back the layers, recognizing that something a bit different was happening. I realized this British three-piece had taken the sounds I once reviled and updated them with considerable teeth.
My musical baggage told me I’m not supposed to like this band. My brain told me to shut up and listen with new ears.
The most obvious comparison for this ten-song album would be a fusion of Audioslave, Queens of the Stone Age, and Arctic Monkeys. The band showcases what happens when hook-heavy rock and riff-fueled psych are filtered through nuance and appreciation for dynamic variance. There are no downtuned power chords and unchecked angry-bro rage here. This is compelling rock music with heart, class, and actual tension.
Everything begins and ends with Jamie Hall, the band’s lead singer, frontman, and principal songwriter. I’m in awe of his capacity for twisting and morphing the elements of a moribund genre into something fresh and engaging. It’s obvious that he’s listened to pop music before, and his penchant for grooves and digital textures provides much-needed contrasts. Additionally, his clear, gently aching tenor vocals hearkens to Jeff Buckley, especially when the lyrics wax philosophical and elegiac.
“Sleepwalker” draws powerful energy from a tremendous opening riff that then gets turned on its head three different ways. With “Stop Beating on My Heart (Like a Bass Drum),” Hall’s breathy, expressive voice lulls you into a trance before the bottom drops out with righteous fury. On “Beauty,” the trio rips through a loping low-end groove all while the tune slowly crescendos toward a mountaintop. The album comes to a rousing conclusion with “In the Autumn of My Years,” complete with crushing overdrive and Hall’s lush delivery.
What sets this album apart from the tawdry hard rock I avoided 20 years ago is its immaculate production.
It’s the handiwork of a band wants to grab your attention with immediacy, but hold it with tender care. Tigercub wants you to hear everything yet retain the thundering heaviness of hard rock. The grit has definition, the low end has clarity, and the distortion adds weight, not noise.
Instead of pummeling you over the head without respite, the group gives listeners space to breathe and feel. The middle third of the album provides a pronounced downtempo section that’s more than cliched acoustic guitar balladry. It’s a marked flex of the band’s compositional skills as they spread their wings and indulge their psych-folk sensibilities.
As Blue As Indigo revels in a keen appreciation for drama without being dramatic or distraught. Call it catharsis in action, this is energetic stadium rock without pretense or bombast. Tigercub has convinced me that high-quality, adrenaline-soaked rock exists in the 21st century, and it’s actually worth my time.