Do you remember when a new kid joined your class in elementary school? Maybe he was a little bit odd or a little awkward, and, when you told your parents about it after school, they'd say to you, "Never judge a book by its cover." This, of course, was advice that went unheeded.
When pop/indie group Film School released their debut album, they embodied that new kid image. Their music was a little different than the mainstream beats played on most airwaves. Their first release, modestly titled Brilliant Career, wasn't exciting, and you wouldn't have told your parents about it; you wouldn't have heard it.
In Film School's hometown of Indie-land, their release was a lo-fi, guitar-charged success. Created by Krayg Burton in 1998, Film School didn't start recording until 2000. Despite the delay, the band began with several seasoned players, including Pavement guitarist Scott Kannberg. Like many new bands, their lineup changed, but the loss and addition of new musicians barely affected Film School's mellow sound.
The latest release is far more cohesive than Film School's first two albums. Film School sounds at times like one long track that takes a bildüngsroman-type coming-of-age journey through its musical life only to return to its roots. The disc revolves around a single melody, which gets modified, twisted and varied throughout the CD's 46 minutes. The manipulation of that single melody is done in a way that would make Bach proud; raging guitars and heavy bass return effortlessly to the tonic, the main note on which the rest of the melody is centered.
Stark vocal melodies (which aren't any less amazing for their austerity) are laid on top of the prominent guitar riffs. The lyrics alone aren't awe-inspiring. Often repetitive, there are only two songs that elicit some sort of emotion: "On and On" and "Sick of the Shame." When lyrics are present in the rest of the album, they are transformed from sub-par to sufficiently good via the vocal melody, the drum rhythms and the guitar chords.
Vocalist Burton uses his own chords to issue forth a scratchy timbre that lends itself well to Film School's indie/pop character. Sounding at times like The Strokes' lead singer, Julian Casablancas, Burton's voice makes the music seem more settled. His tavern-bar timbre also adds dimension to the lyrics. The result -- lyrics that aren't overly blasé or repetitive.
All of these factors make Film School's self-titled album a testament to their ability to produce a well-crafted collection of music, albeit a short one. But, if you're looking for something spectacular and new, something to sweep you off your feet, this isn't it. Film School was written for their most dedicated fans. It wasn't created for the curious new listener who judged a CD by its cover.