Ought - More Than Any Other Day Review

A TORMENTED SOUL DANCES ON THE INSIDE

Let's get the obvious out of the way; the hand-stack adorning the cover isn't just for show, it's representative of Ought and the myriad of influences they drape across their sleeves. Creativity, or lack thereof, is the single negating factor of More Than Any Other Day, a debut rife with talent and passion, but one that values revitalization over invention. Whether it's Television, The Velvet Underground, Magazine, Biting Tongues, or any other 70's Art Punk outfit, influential ghosts haunt Ought and their duality of excited anxiousness. They're not alone, as modern comparisons can be heard too: Viet Cong, Women, Girl Band, just to name a few. Even vocalist Tim Darcy, with his weary cogitation and jaunty hysterics bears similarities to James Murphy (of LCD Soundsystem), Andrew Savage (of Parquet Courts), and David Byrne (of Talking Heads). Needless to say, Ought skulks behind legends and contemporaries alike. But the headlong prowess and unstable fidgeting - giving way to moments both galvanized and dire - declare More Than Any Other Day a success in stubborn, modern Art Punk.

Consistency runs across these eight songs, though the murky trudge of 'Pleasant Heart' fails to muster the same fitful satisfaction of the ensuing flock. This, by and large, because it falls into the No Wave category, with its clangorous percussion and rotting collapse courtesy of Tim Keen's violin. 'Forgiveness' handles the latter aspect better, as John Cale seemingly assumes control with that patented, distended Drone of his. Every other track hits the right energy, as 'Habit,' 'Around Again,' and 'Clarity!' are paced with frantic care, spooling around vacillating structures before combusting in pain both pleasurable and aching. For example, the transition between 'Around Again's' two halves is alarming, effective, and torrid. "Why is it that you can't stare into the sun but you can stick your head into a bucket of water and breathe in deep?" hits so strangely, so abruptly, one can't help but draw attention to the tonal interchange.

It's one of Darcy's best moments, if not for More Than Any Other Day's two standouts; the title track and 'Weather Song.' To my great delight, these two inject tantalizing alacrity that eschews Post-Punk's depressing norm. After meandering aimlessly in what seems like the aftermath of a failed suicide attempt, the former draws shape around the sudden ignition of self-motivation and worth. Darcy's performance, highlighting slice of life equanimity, is brilliant, well executed, and infinitely replayable. 'Weather Song' achieves much of the same desires with its slight-of-hand hook, led this time by juxtaposed guitar riffs and upbeat percussion that allows Darcy to find hope after his kvetching verses. The duality between austerity and compelled saturation is undoubtedly More Than Any Other Day's apex.