I have this sneaking suspicion that more than one music writer will describe No Joy as the female version of No Age. While both artists’ namesakes negate something, boast two members, and dabble heavily in shoegaze ambience, such an opinion is lazy journalism and does a great disservice to this fine Montreal-based upstart. And without being too anally PC about shit, I do take umbrage with the term “girl group,” which I’ve already seen in early press. You don’t call Deerhunter a “dude group,” do you (Whitney Petty’s short tenure with the band notwithstanding)? And moreover, the “girl group” moniker will subsequently categorize the artist into either the “siren” or “riot grrl” camp. No Joy, not to mention many women in punk and indie rock before them, transcend such labels. So shouldn’t we be passed this already?

With that said, Laura Lloyd and Jasamine White cheekily embrace these expectations, whether it’s the album’s title Ghost Blonde, track titles like “You Girls Smoke Cigarettes?,” or the Sweet Valley Twins book covers that populate No Joy’s MySpace page. I dig their style.

More importantly, No Joy is a creature of its own device, borrowing heavily from the silkier side of punk a la Split-era Lush and Jet Set Sonic Youth more than, going back to the earlier example, No Age’s Husker Du parallels. Lloyd and White wear their love for the ’90s proudly – brandishing Fender Jazzmasters, the diving rod of choice for Kevin Shields, and amalgamating the ethereal textures of dream pop with the nasty, grimey guitar fuzztones beloved by Mudhoney. Dare I say you even hear a little post rock in the repetive, hypnotic, tension-and-release, six and a half minute album-closing title track. Of course, the heavy reverb and sunshine-evocative psychedelic prism recalls many of the fine late ’60s touchstones, particularly the oft-referenced Phil Spector acts.

However, Ghost Blonde isn’t some nostaglia act. The songwriting throughout their full-length is wholly unique and solid. Album opener “Mediumship” brings the sneer, soul, and swagger of The Creation and the Velvets. “Hawaii” is a troublemaking punk-as-fuck fist pumper that cuts like a missile between the ambient post doo-wop of “Pacific Pride” and “Indigo Child.” “Maggie Says I Love You” and “You Girls Smoke Cigarettes” seems to act as a sort of conceptual suite, with both songs sharing the same chorus “the way home / the way home.” Tracks like “Still” and “Heedless” provide the true-to-cannon garage shoegaze aesthetic and keep Ghost Blonde’s myriad ideas cohesive. Despite the references, there’s an identifiable originality in No Joy’s debut effort that separates them from the hordes of imitators. Perhaps it’s the Khanate reference in their name, or perhaps it’s something completely intangible, but No Joy is not all about the good vibes that’s been repeated ad infium by their contemporaries. Sure, you could spin this record at the beach, but a visceral sesne of foreboding lurks under the hazy, murky sonic pallette. This isn’t dreamy, wistful beach pop. As a whole, Ghost Blonde is closer to a sort of sludgey doomgaze. Yet, they still masterfully craft crystalline four-minute pop songs. And therein is what makes No Joy exemplary. While I can’t guarantee the same listening experience for you, I have a serious personal relationship with the sounds of the late ’60s and early ’90s, and as such, the quality of this 37 minutes of music really hit home for me.

Ghost Blonde hits streets tomorrow, November 16, courtesy of Mexican Summer. And my friends in Chicago can catch them tonight at the Beat Kitchen, which I would totally go hang at if a five hour drive wasn’t a motherfucker on a Monday night.

Fagen-Becker Quality Rating

MP3 :::
No Joy – Maggie Says I Love You