Film School Albums (3)
What The Critics Say
Since the release of Film School's 2001 album A Brilliant Career, post-punk-inspired indie rock bands have gone from being hip to common, and it would be easy to write off the band's second, self-titled album as riding the wake of the trend. However, Film School is a strong album that deserves more than being written off as just the work of post-punk wannabes. The band manages to find its own niche among its contemporaries: more evocative than the National, less bleak than Editors, and not nearly as melodramatic as Interpol, Film School's music is actually more varied than that of their peers, even though they're drawing from the same pool of influences. The band hails from San Francisco, but Film School's heart belongs to Manchester: though they claim inspirations ranging from the Who to drone metal to electronica, it's Joy Division and Echo & the Bunnymen who shape their music the most, particularly on "On & On"'s precise, angular basslines, glamorously dour vocals, and alternately shimmering and spiky guitars. The band makes sure its big, atmospheric sound doesn't dissolve into the ether completely by anchoring epics like "11:11" with brighter, catchier songs such as "Harmed," "Pitfalls," and "Breet," which recalls the Cure with its bouncy bassline and forlorn lyrics. Film School often feels like some lost album from the late '80s that captures the moment when post-punk was about to mist over into shoegaze; "He's a DeepDeep Lake" sounds more than a little like the more muscular side of My Bloody Valentine, and the album's gorgeous closer, "Like You Know," should be as comforting as a warm bath to fans of Pale Saints and Chapterhouse. As the album unfolds, the band begins to escape the shadows of its influences. "Garrison" is a pretty interlude of loops and washes of sound that bridges the band's interest in electronica and dream pop, while "Sick of the Shame," with its looser, lighter, free-flowing feel, could be the sound of the band's future. Film School isn't breathtakingly original, but it is well made, and should appeal to fans of the sounds Film School explores, but aren't too hung up on when they were made. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
If you're not careful, Brilliant Career could soothe you into sleep. That would be an unfortunate effect, though, because the album deserves the most intimate sort of inspection. The music is moody and plaintive, full of swells of somnolence that lap against your ears. It's almost as if the band tried to interpret what emptiness might sound like if it had a voice. The album is the brainchild of guitarist and keyboard player Krayg Burton and is built around his freeform, zoned-out songwriting, which owes as much to My Bloody Valentine as it does to indie rock strum-and-mumble bands. But instead of splintered, fragmented environments, Film School -- a revolving door project that numbers Kyle Statham and Scott Kannberg among its visitors -- searches for the subtlest type of panoramic wall to carry its songs. The songs sometimes come off as if Stephen Malkmus had tried rewriting the Pink Floyd songbook -- and if those Brits, in turn, were arty, bangs-over-the-eyes shoegazers instead of stoners with something on their mind. "A Taste of Dust," however, moves closer to the most ominously atmospheric moments of the Doors, turning fried snare and cymbal beats, noodly guitar, and Burton's barely there singing into a doped-up musical backdrop that is almost sexual. Suitably, Brilliant Career was recorded partly in Burton's bedroom, contributing no doubt to its shy, reclusive nature. Even when it does break out into something a bit more aggressive (such as "Ume's Lament" or "Manville, CA"), the music is never chaotic but rather feels almost flirtatious, breathless, like a Homeric muse lulling you further into sweet oblivion. But if you do find yourself nodding off, the album is likely to induce some of the most otherworldly dreams that you've ever experienced. ~ Stanton Swihart, All Music Guide
