Bike Tuff – Into Shore

If you’ve ever been disappointed by a live show but somehow still felt compelled to stay the course then you’ll understand my dilemma with Kalamazoo, Michigan’s Bike Tuff.  The four piece’s latest full length,Into Shore, is a scattered bag of midwest meets emo sounds that varies in success as much as it does influences.  And while preference certainly plays a part, Bike Tuff’s wishy-washy execution trumps style as a means of evaluation for this hit or miss playlist.

Into Shore starts off promising enough, but confuses their audience soon after.  “Each Purling Note” presents a catchy punk rock front, masking vocalist Mason Richard’s whinny potential with all sorts of appealing guitar work to compliment the otherwise expected chords.  “Oak St. Market” plans for similar success by stacking a front of ambitious gang vocals late in the chorus.  Even with a slim production curtain the band’s performance maintains pleasantries when stylistically in tune.  It’s when “Black Book” hits that the chords swell and sway to a near twinkle, sending mixed messages to listeners already comfortably on board with the prior developing melody.  The pseudo dissonance soon becomes a turnoff if only for the lost momentum.  “Baby You’re An Anarchist” bounces back for a few opening lines but eventually loses the steam it attempts to regain in a scattered fluster that becomes “The Matlock Expressway.”

Yet for all the pitfalls there’s a likeable element running through Bike Tuff’s rookie qualms.  Pockets of strength like “Dock Ellis, I’m Jealous,” and “Sweet Berry Wine” ensure that listeners don’t withhold positive reception entirely.  In fact, the album is subject to somewhat of a second wind, which is in full force by the time “Eraser Head” rolls around.  Otherwise Into Shore relies on pockets of satisfaction to propel the audience onward and tickle their attention.

Overall Bike Tuff offers a grab bag of hits and misses.  The few bulls eyes they hit surface as either full songs or entertaining choruses, while the remainder of the confusion punctuates the disc with lackluster results.  There’s something here worth liking, but it’s hidden beneath layers of identity crisis.