Nerd Parade
The Span of a Life
By Alexandra Edwards
Hearkening back to the days when the American South was inextricably tied to rock 'n' roll, Nerd Parade's The Span of a Life contains the kinds of big sounds and inventive daring that rock music should be about. The songs would, in fact, make the perfect soundtrack to Quentin Tarantino's next film — gritty, soulful, searing. Their palate is wide-ranging, as though they went into the studio with a big grab bag of '70s rock and punk sounds, shook it up really good, and then pulled out pieces at will. But it's also fresh, not so much stuck in the past as acknowledging a little bit of nostalgia, then moving on in unexpected ways.
First, there are the guitars. The lead on the title track noodles along like an Allman Brothers song; paired with lead vocalist Abby Wren singing about "traveling down to an old country town, in a beat up sedan tonight," this is Southern rock revival at its finest. Next up on the album, "Yay, Yeah, Uh-Huh!" takes it a step farther, cribbing sounds from jazz-influenced blues and rock. But the band can do more than just this. "How Hard We Fall" kicks up the fuzz for a punk rock garage jam, then reigns in the reverb for some thumping bass, before pulling out that huge lead guitar sound again, edging towards Zeppelin-levels of blistering.
Dynamic shifts like this abound on the album. From crescendoing opener "Sixty-Eight Reasons," with its slightly Eastern, slightly psychedelic sound, to the fade out of the final moments, the tracks almost never do what you might expect them to. For starters, most blend seamlessly into each other, despite sounding nothing alike. It's a trick that keeps up the tempo of the album as a whole, as well as helping to integrate all their various sounds. "Dead Air & Denial" changes up the game halfway through: it begins with a big, hooky guitar riff (think "Wipeout" as conceived by the session players at Muscle Shoals). The only time the technique falters is on album closer "Imagineland." After a strong start, acapella vocals joined quickly by chugging guitar, the track goes strangely toothless. Luckily, it picks back up before the end, meaning even the weakest track on the album redeems itself.
For all their musical prowess, the voices of Wren and Randy Garcia are charmingly low-key, unpolished in all the best ways. Wren can belt it out, and she certainly does, but she also restrains herself much of the time. It only adds to the garage rock feel, better combining all those '70s influences into a homemade, heartfelt album. If this is what's possible, Southern rock should step out of the arena — and the past — way more often.
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