Any band dubbed "east-coast surf" elicits an eyebrow raise and a "convince me" attitude from this Southern Californian. No exceptions for Washington D.C.-ers Shark Week, which I approached with weariness, considering the band's Discovery Channel-appropriated name. But their debut record, "Beach Fuzz" is, title-forward, cute as fuck.
"Why Did I Let You Go?" has a summer, ocean vibe. Rippling guitars splash like waves of heat and UV off a reflector, drums at a steady, strolling-in-sandals tempo, lyrics seemingly from a lengthy conversation in sunglasses over many cool beverages garnished with limes.
The beach aesthetic is consistent, and supported by good musicianship and production values, but I don't feel gripped by it. Feeling “gripped" isn’t the essence of summer music. Feeling “chill," feeling “relaxed," or, close cousin, feeling “bored" may be.
What salvages Shark Week from sunburning out is the "east-coast" part of this "east-coast surf" band. When they get less O.C. and more D.C., especially the vocals. A combo of David Johansen at his most Iggy, Lou Reed at his most Chuck Berry, and Ian Mackaye at his most Fugazi, the voice swoops into clarity on the bridge, falling into the second half of "I don't care about it" with a wailing, pained "like you do" that repeats alongside a haunting "do" echoed in the backup vocals, leaving us thinking perhaps he does care.
And, considering how I keep coming back to hear that pre-chorus, maybe I care too.
I'm curious how the rest of "Beach Fuzz" will balance this push and pull: sunshine and clouds, beers and tears. I promise not to scoff it off, regardless of any issues I take with nomenclature or attempts to appropriate the surf culture from its rightful owners out west.
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