Gubba

Jonathan Boulet’s challenging, deconstructionist third album feels devoid of any real emotion, writes CHRISTOPHER LEWIS.

How much has Jonathan Boulet let his side projects seep into his day job? When we were introduced to the young whippersnapper, he was Vance Joy version 1.0 and it was cute that he liked to play in his spare time with some harder bands like City Escape Fire and Snakeface. His self-titled debut was all smiles and group hugs and hinted at a talented songwriter who knew how to put a unique stamp on a simple pop structure. His second album dropped the proverbial ball, and what his third album proves is that he either hasn’t learned his lesson or he just doesn’t give a shit. Gubba’s press release boasts that the album “bludgeons like a doom record sped up to garage punk tempos” and, y’know, it’s nothing if not self-aware.

It all kicks off with one of my biggest pet peeves: a half-minute album intro that serves no purpose. So we have Jonathan and co. jamming for 28 seconds before the song abruptly stops. He has named this masterpiece ‘Don’t Call Me Champ’, and it’s a precursor to how frustrating Gubba will be over the next half-hour.

So the album actually begins with ‘Hold It Down’ and, from the immediate sound of the screeching, acerbic guitars, it’s clear that the boy who wrote the gentle lullaby ‘North to South-East to You’ has evolved. What he has evolved into, however, is a barking beast. The vocals are mixed so low that they are in constant competition with the thrashing noise of the guitars as he thunders, “We can’t ignore it! Not right now! I hold it down!” The lyrics are closer to catchcries and indicative of the entire album’s lyrical content. The song itself is a little surfer fuzz, a little anarchic punk and the most straightforward pop Gubba gets.

“There’s no dynamic in the vocals, only variations of yelling.”

Then ‘Creeper’ dismantles itself and builds back up again over the repetitive background shout of “CREEPER!” It’s at about this point that the malaise sets in, as it’s clear that there’s no dynamic in the vocals, only variations of yelling. It’s also sad that a man with a voice as textured as Boulet’s obviously doesn’t want it to be heard. ‘Creeper’ builds to a crescendoing guitar riff that might be the highlight of the album a mere six minutes in, and if it’d kept this balance between sonic unrest and angular guitar hooks, Gubba could’ve had more success. Unfortunately, the remaining 11 songs take a more deconstructionist philosophy towards pop music.

Picture Godzilla rampaging through downtown Tokyo and ‘Nerve Endings’ could easily soundtrack that scene. The chord structure might be ripping off an early Metallica record and, with Jonathan’s voice again buried deep, he uses it as another instrument in the band, not as a vehicle to create an emotional attachment with his audience. The result is that some of the less immediate songs are a bit faceless. “Where is my will to live?” he asks. Any fan hoping for a return to the accessibility of his debut would be thinking the same thing.

Facetiousness aside, Boulet’s band sound fantastic and they’re rawer than most of their contemporaries, making Royal Blood’s brand of rock sound like Disney songs. Obviously a conscious decision has been made to step away from the easy-on-the-ear pop candy in favour of more challenging, avant-garde compositions. But it’s the ideas of Gubba, not the execution, that is unrefined, and it results in really repetitive punk music. Too often guitar riffs wander around aimlessly, the bass never changes from its ‘menacing’ setting and despite all of the quirky, colloquial song titles like ‘Derro’, ‘Fuddy Duddy’ and ‘BOG’, they do little to distract from the fact that the songs themselves are quite homogenous.

Less poetic than Christopher Owens and more aggressive than Nathan Williams, Boulet’s lighter moments like ‘Set It Off’ have the breezy charm of Pavement, but it’s time and time again that the garbled or incoherent nature of the vocals make tracks like ‘BOG’ and ‘You’re a Man’ unremarkable. Though 10 points for rhyming “man” with “Ku Klux Klan.” ‘Derros’ sounds like an audition tape to be the house band of a talk show, and the fact that it’s the second instrumental begs the question of whether Boulet was struggling to write enough songs for this album.

Cacophony is a word often thrown around, but Gubba is 14 songs and just under 35 minutes of noise. Some people will say that’s truly punk, but surely even the great punk artists and lovers would be worn down by the mediocrity of this album’s monotony. It is stomping, heavy and relentless, and perhaps its merit is in its unique, uncompromising sound in today’s musical landscape. It is, however, woefully single-geared, and by the time you reach ‘Strut King’, the notes are starting to melt together.

It’s likely that it might be easier to review JB as an artist if you’ve never heard his sugar-sweet debut, but, on its own merit, Gubba is devoid of any real emotion. So while some moments are interesting to listen to, it’s too hollow to love.

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‘Gubba’ is out now on CD, digital and vinyl through Popfrenzy. Launch tour info below, with Unity Floors supporting on all dates.

Fri, Aug 15 – Northcote Social Club, Melbourne, VIC
Sat, Aug 16 – Pirie & Co Social Club, Adelaide, SA
Thurs, Aug 21 – GoodGod, Sydney, NSW
Thurs, Aug 28 – Black Bear Lodge, Brisbane, QLD