Some bands are great live; others are great on record. The best are able to do both. Toronto's own Broken Social Scene have built for themselves a rabid worldwide underground (and occasionally overground) fanbase by doing just that, albeit with a distinctly different approach in each medium. On album, BSS have been beguilingly mysterious and steeped in heady self-sabotage, usually at the expense of their most poppy and accessible songs. In concert, however, the same songs that were obscured on record by gauzy production and profane choruses were elevated to arms-wide-open stadium rock that ripped entire pages from Bono and Chris Martin's playbook.
Well, whatever the actual excusing of past sins that drove them to title this album Forgiveness Rock Record, make no mistake that BSS is finally coming clean—folks, this is a rock band and they're singing to all of you ("That's right, even you guys in the back, lemme hear you!!!") For the first time, those choruses and epic hooks that they write so well are allowed to register with honest directness. Sure, there are detours, left turns, moments of noisy disintegration, and Kevin Drew still can't resist populating some of the catchiest tracks with swear words ("Texico Bitches" and "Ungrateful Little Father", for example). But no matter what he and his many cohorts are singing, you finally hear every word with crystal clear fidelity.
More than ever, the 'weirdness' of the band comes not from production, but from the actual songwriting. "Chase Scene" is a perversely entertaining genre-study of, well, soundtracks to cinematic chase scenes. The aforementioned "...Father" shifts beautifully from stone-skipping stream-of-consciousness indie folk to a shimmering sheet of ambient synth tones. And the completely incongruous hoedown that derails the glam-jam of "Water In Hell"—well, it's definitely weird. Producer John McEntire is a big part of this sonic revelation. He’s certainly not without his own bizarro tricks, and he uses them to great effect. But by parting ways with You Forgot It In People and Broken Social Scene producer Dave Newfeld—whose production and mixing were master classes in molasses-thick impressionism—the band stands in front of its listener with a nakedness that is both unexpected and refreshing.
The big question, then, is: when populist rock anthems like “Forced To Love” and “World Sick” (songs that are direct cousins of past hits like “Cause = Time” and “7/4 (Shoreline)”) are stripped of their arty window-dressing, will the blogging elite stand by their man, or will they cry “Sellout!” and shift their love to another band more willing to throw Pollock-esque tantrums over their pop music? Maybe yes, maybe no, but whatever the final verdict, I’m willing to bet that once people hear these songs live, none of it will matter anyway. And you know what? It’s still one weird hour of music.