Guards are one of those bands that sound great in the sunshine, with a cloak of hazy afternoon drunk to keep your shoulders warm and chin up.
At its best, In Guards We Trust is terrific fun — a bold break from the cynicism and detachment that characterizes too much of the band’s native city. But a few more careful edits might have kept the record from blowing its gasket by side B.
Whenever the big hook inevitably hits, the celebratory becomes perfunctory, no different than a TGI Friday's wait staff member forcing themselves to sing "Happy Birthday" over a giant plate of loaded potato skins for the twelfth time that night.
In the end, In Guards We Trust leaves me wondering why this band—with nothing to add in or prove—even exists.
In Guards We Trust isn't as bad as the reviews could leave you to believe, but don't get your hopes up. There's very little substance here, and you may leave the album with either a sour taste in your mouth or a distinct feeling that you don't remember whether you had listened to anything or not. There's nothing to hold or hang on to, and nothing memorable. It's sad, really, cuz I kind of like that album cover.
#49 | / | Gigwise |