When Bar Italia hit the Dean Blunt-starved Zillennial masses like a fucking atom bomb, skeptics accused the disaffected trio of coming off as too cool for their own good. We can argue over whether Tracey Denim has held up, but I’d counter that what made the band stand out in the first place wasn’t some effortless sense of style, but rather how awkward and discomforting they all seemed. Though their references may have been extremely well-worn, their pitchy singing, bizarre fashion choices, and sweet-but-slightly-off songwriting made them poster children for a growing generation of artists whose rock-star fantasies were shaped from late nights spent scrolling soon-to-be-shuttered blogs.
One such band is Los Angeles’ untitled (halo), who have been dogged by Bar Italia comparisons since they first hit the scene a couple years ago. Take one look at their Bandcamp page and it’s easy to see why: The visual sensibility mostly consists of blown-out photos edited within an inch of their life, and the vibey songs have titles like “el prado freestyle,” “limewire,” and “emo is good” that sound like a lot of things, and also nothing at all. The band is at its best at live shows, where, on a good night, their dejected mix of shoegaze, trip-hop, and other genres that have been beaten to death take on a revitalized energy. With Jay Are manning CDJs, a twin-guitar attack from Jack Dione and Nicholas Noneman, and Ariana Mamnoon leading on bass and vocals (with members taking turns jumping on the mic), untitled (halo) play loud enough that you can ignore the surface-level songwriting and get caught up in the buzz.
No score yet, be the first to add.
But on record it’s a different story, and while their smoggy EPs showed some promise, their long-awaited debut album for the 1975’s Dirty Hit label is a sadly empty experience. Though it gestures toward dissociative catharsis, it plays less like the soundtrack to a heartbroken molly hangover than the struggle to make an aesthetic grid post about it.
Daniel D`Amico for SANREMO.FM
