Share Some Deep Fried Synthesizer Sorcery With Chvrches

Before I put four on the floor for this review I must indicate that the last word in the subject line is not a typo. Yes, the word is pronounced as you think it is. Altars, choir boys, chalice wine, the whole nine yards. It's the plural for that building. Okay opening bit of business kicked to the curb. Now for synthesizers ample enough to fill a room with wide ceiling acoustics. Phil Spector had his wall of sound decades ago. Glasgow, Scotland's Chvrches is doing a bang up job personifying one of its own using "The Mother That We Share" as its demo. Since the late 1970s' when Gary Numan strode into the barely pre-MTV music landscape, synthesizers have garnered this reputation of being detached from human feeling. The programming fools us into thinking there real human hands playing real drums, guitars or whatever. But make no mistake, synths could bring anybody in the mood for a cultural debate into a conversation regarding how the dehumanization of society was predicted by the musicians of this time frame. In Styx's conceptually ahead of the curve pop smash "Mr. Roboto" Dennis DeYoung asserted that "Machines dehumanize". With all of us continuing to age during an age when noticing people constantly buried in the activity of their smartphones isn't a rarity anymore who's to say Dennis wasn't a genius who spotted the trend before any of us knew it would grow up to become one. Even though synths aren't necessarily the stuff of bold artistic statements, in Chvrches's hands they bring an intoxicating moodiness to its work. That delicate flower you hear perched ever so gently at the tip of those synths is Lauren Mayberry. She's got no small measure of intelligence in terms of how she opts to let the sheet of techno ambiance guide her along as if it was wind at her back. The close your eyes and inhale sequences make me think this trio's representative sound is a cross between early low level angst Cure and The Temper Trap. "The latter's Sweet Disposition" mirrors the whole outer space head tripping fantasy. Iain Cook and Martin Doherty assist Lauren in whipping up this attention grabbing brew which, like the porridge Goldilocks chose, is neither too hot or cold. In music language that's more like not too fast and indecipherable nor too slow and overwrought. This single originates from an album titled "The Bones of What You Believe". Apt choice for a synth outfit. Synth notes settle in the eardrum, the bones for what ideally sprouts into compelling songs that don't beat you over the head with their steady hum as much as they grab you by the hand and allow you to sink into their isolationist warmth. Call synth music a beanbag chair for the soul if you want. Lyrically this song suggests blood ties that have reached their limit. "The mother that we share will never keep our cold hearts from falling". Good times, huh? Keep the Kleenex handy. You could cry your eye sockets loose after digesting, "I'm in misery where you can seem as old as your omens". I did in fact posit the equation Synth = emotionless. Lyrics like these turn the trick of injecting a slowly weakening heart into a space where vibrancy doesn't thrive all that easily. It's been my understanding (possibly a mistaken one) that the Irish are known for drinking and fighting for the most part. Not a people high on mirth. For me Scotland's prime export, Americanized or not, would definitely be Groundskeeper Willie of "Simpsons" fame. I'm not schooled enough in the verses of Robert Burns to rank him high up there. The message I'm attempting in clumsy fashion to convey to you is "The Mother That We Share" wears the tattered cloak of loneliness, darkness, and cosmic desolation. In short, the synths have done their job gallantly. Perhaps reviewing this song during the run-up to Christmas was a savvy bit of marketing on my part. After all there are large numbers of people for whom Christmas is just another day. "The Mother That We Share" might not fill the void of a warm blanket but its abiding gray pallor ought to be a suitable companion for the misery loves company contingent.