My introduction to MINKS came in the form of “Margot,” a swift indie pop number colored bright by glossy synth and guitar that harkens, ever so subtly, back to The Smiths. Its low, lovesick vocals crescendo into a chorus that is sweet, jubilant, and a twinge melancholic – an apt musical accompaniment to the end of summer. It was the third and final single from Tides End, and it tickled my ear buds: I thought I had my summer’s find coming my way. Unfortunately, my initial infatuation proved not worth the investment.
Right out of the gates, I was kicking myself. The album opens with lackluster fanfare in the form of “Romans.” Not only are the lyrics boringly melodramatic (“Happy birthday / to the worst friend in the world,” and “Happy birthday / can I poison your drink?”), but the instrumentation is littered with listless pop tricks. It could have just as easily been produced by a multitude of other indie pop practitioners currently oversaturating the genre. Seriously. Slap someone else’s name on this, and I’d honestly believe it was theirs instead. Everything that made “Margot” so alluring was painfully absent, and I really hoped that it was just a fluke, a dud they needed to get out of the way early on.
Tides End does improve thereafter, albeit fleetingly. The first half of it has the most muscle. The somber reverb and steady pulse of the single “Everything’s Fine” sneaks in and cleanses the aural palette before giving way to darling “Margot.” The two songs are gems for sure, but the transition between them feels haphazard at best and jarring at worst: we go from a modest stroll to an outright dash in an instant. This not only distracts us from their individual strengths but also detracts from any semblance of rhythm or flow the album was aiming for. This inconsistency is a recurring flaw for Tides End, and its undoing. It simply cannot stick to one soundscape, and so it samples a little of everything, sometimes hitting the mark, other times firing blindly into the air. And after being lulled by the airy chorus of “Playboys of the Western World” to irked by the all-too-cute beachy ambiance of “Weekenders” to intrigued by the infectiously impressionistic chorus of “Painted Indian” (“From black to white to red to white and back to red”), my attention span was shot.
But it didn’t matter at that point: what remained was either sonically flat (“Hold Me Now”), catchy but juvenile (“Doomed and Cool”), or altogether unimpressive (“Tide’s End”). I’m left greatly disappointed with this release, yes, but its three singles are satisfying enough that I won’t hold a grudge. Whenever their next album comes out, I’m positive I’ll give it a spin, if only because I’m banking on Tides End amounting to nothing more than a sophomore slump — the learning curve standing between them and the just right vibe they can call their own. In the meantime, save yourself the almost 40 minutes worth jumbled tunes and listen to the singles as you please.
Review by Justin Davis. Follow him on twitter at @yeahjustindavis.
