by Kennedy Hamblen //April 25, 2023
I hate the acoustic guitar. Ok, that’s not true. I should say I’m less forgiving to acoustic-sounding music, whether that mean one sad man and a guitar, or several sad men, multiple guitars, and light percussion. While I love a lo-fi sound, I can’t stand, for example, Fleet Foxes, or (forgive me) Snail Mail. Stop whining! And for the love of God, buy a synthesizer.
This might make my love of the Shin’s debut album, Oh, Inverted World, a bit strange. After all, in the liner notes to the 20th anniversary vinyl, Pat McGuire dismisses my kind of music in favor of that emotional instrumental crap I usually hate. About Oh, Inverted World, McGuire writes, “It had melodies! Harmonies! Earnestness! Ardor, zeal! A singer who could really, truly sing! Quirky lyrics you could actually understand, even comprehend!”
I find this analysis irritating, and not only because it’s a not-so-subtle dig at “garage rock revival.” I also think Oh, Inverted World has a lot to offer beyond the musical subgenre it represents. It’s an incredibly complex album, even if recognizing that complexity takes several listens. On the first listen, you’ll notice the beautiful, compact songs, which sonically toe the line between upbeat light rock and a sinister strangeness. But give it a few more, and you’ll catch intricate basslines, thoughtful instrumental additions, and unique subtleties. This album does not give everything up at once, even if you can immediately hear all the care that has gone into each song.
Oh, Inverted World feels like a walk through the suburbs on a gray day in an especially inspired mood—wavering between the quotidian, the queasy boredom of small sadness, the nostalgic, and the smarmy told-you-so tone that alternative teenagers love to take with their parents and their friends.
It’s also an album with immense momentum. The Shins know where to hold off on the hi-hat and when to send it back with full force. They know how to use even simple chord progressions to their fullest effect. They know how to edit their music—and what you don’t hear is just as important as what you do. A sonic trick or interesting noise is never overused. Other similar-sounding albums fall short of Oh, Inverted World‘s genius because they linger too long, or fail to place every part of the puzzle together in a satisfactory way, creating bloated albums full of songs that engage with too-few musical ideas or motifs. But on this album, the Shins lay out each witty lyric and beautiful or interesting sound with no fanfare, no unnecessary lingering, as if “the goal is to ignite you then move on.”
I’ll always love excess in music, be that noise or screaming, overdrive, a crunchy bassline. But a light touch can do something no other technique is capable of. Oh, Inverted World‘s sparseness gives its mastery a window through which to shine. It also reveals the delicate beauty of a well-structured song. And it might… MIGHT… just convince me to give Snail Mail a listen.