American Authors - Seasons

American Authors - Seasons

It’s the third time around the block for the New York City-based pop rockers. So why then does it still feel like there is something to prove? After the monumental success of Best Day Of My Life, American Authors looked poised to dominate the world of stadium rock, following in the footsteps of their peers OneRepublic. Their brand of music was built for the radio and easy to sing along to. They were friendly and aesthetically pleasing. I repeat: Why then, does it feel like there’s something to prove?

It’s still hard to take AA seriously as a world conqueror given their pandering to chain brands Wendy’s and Walmart. There’s something about headlining a business conference that seems seedy, even for the music industry. Still, the third album has historically been when bands have to fully establish their identity and sound. American Authours still have the chance to become a household name.  Unfortunately, Seasons follows the same safe and simplistic recipe as its predecessors, which might as well be the death knell for a modern pop band. 

The continued inability of AA to bottle the magic of the Best Day… has long been the main criticism of the group and the trend continues with Seasons. In fact, their biggest hit can be seen as a microcosm for the band itself: a bright, intense initial burn with booming pop choruses and cohesive folk elements that seem custom built for large crowds. And yet by the third verse, you are left with a “here we go again instead of a “HERE WE GO!” Their attempts to bridge the gap between new influences and sounds leaves an unpleasant saturated after taste, and almost nothing is surprising after the first two songs. Think Nickleback meets Mumford meets school dinners.

With this being said, the bland formulaic pattern they follow is LOVED by many. Their ‘All -American’ feel good vibe and predilection for hand claps chorus lines is what helped establish their following. But it doesn’t hold up for an album, in fact, it barely holds up for half. Geometric drum beats with predictable fills and chord progressions that are dryly repetitive form much of the score, and the lack of sound progression since their debut is as disheartening as it is undeniable. Commercially, it is hard to fault. They found something that worked and stuck to it diligently. Artistically, it’s embarrassing.

The saving graces, few and far between as they are, are almost as frustrating as they are pleasant, as they indicate a level of untapped potential just outside the wheelhouse of Seasons. From the stomping, frenetic introspection of opener Stay Around  (“Sometimes I put up a wall to protect how I feel, When I fear the darkness, My heart is guarded, Lighting my fuse is so easy to do, No excuses, I make it harder, For that, I'm sorry), the unbalanced insecurity and lo-fi gospel of Before I Go, the claustrophobic machine-gun delivery of Calm Me Down or the free, sunshine soul vocals of I Wanna Go Out, there is evidence of a little bit of allurement. It’s a shame it’s simply too sparse.

A common trope throughout Season is that of running away (see Neighbourhood), which doesn’t exactly strike me as a good thing. American Authors should be running headfirst into new areas, not running from experimentation, of change. Their attempts to display vulnerability is woefully under executed and their new ‘edgy,’ serious ethos is entirely unbelievable given their psuedo-Village People vaudevillian act. To follow up the semi-serious nature of Neighbourhood with the show tune ridicule of Can't Stop Me Now is such a blatant slap in the face of the listener that I had to shut my laptop and kick the shit out of my wardrobe in a fit of sheer fury. And what’s more infuriating is that I’m sure they thought that it was a brilliant idea. That is Season in a nutshell. Too afraid to invest fully, every attempt at a new direction is followed with a demoralising punchline. And as long as they stay afraid, they’ll never reach their full potential. A pity, Best day of My Life might have been more realistic than we first thought.