Though Film School tend to revel in the dreaminess of half-sleep once trod by new-wavey acts, there are moments on their eponymous LP where they dip into the furious waves of fuzz so favored by shoegazing Brits. Take, for instance, “He’s a Deep, Deep Lake,” which is the biggest outburst on the album, what with its wreckage of cymbals and thunderous slam of bass drum. Whereas elsewhere Film School’s approach seems to be soft drum brushing in a dandelion field of calming guitars and Moog-style synthesizer accents, with singer-guitarist Krayg Burton softly crooning things like “Open your eyes/Everything for a short time,” there are outros that sound downright furious. Overall, Burton’s delivery is so dreamy, it’s easy to feel he’s talking to me instead of the girl he’s “in and out of love” with in “On & On” and “throwing knives” at in “11:11,” another one of the album’s high points (especially the few seconds of underwater sounds and soaring, power-chord thrashing). If it weren’t for Film School’s subtle flair of electronica, the album might sound a little too akin to Boys Don’t Cry, but with the two-minute “Garrison,” we get a spacey excursion recalling Slowdive’s wavy interludes—a bit longer than the 50 seconds of extraterrestrial speak in the album’s “Intro.”
While Film School’s music occupies that subconscious state, the band was recently awakened by a slap in the face from some serious reality. As the members snoozed in their Comfort Inn hotel rooms in Philadelphia last March, some lecherous figure stole their van and all their gear, a crime that is unfortunately becoming a trend. Luckily, with the help of a few friends back in SF, they were able to pool enough cash together to make it back out on the road. Good thing, too, because “Sick of the Shame” is something else, a song in which we hear the customary ethereal passages of Britpop guitars, a feedback-drenched coda, and a fade-out on a disco amp. It’s a dream you never want to wake up from.
