Museum Mouth – Tears In My Beer

Noise pop always surprises me when I give it a fair chance.  I’m usually quite hesitant because of the garage quality static and muffled recording quality, but a few tracks in and I’m usually bobbing my head in time to the underlying beat.  So it was much the same story of skeptic turned believer when I was recently introduced to North Carolina’s Museum Mouth through their latest offering, Tears In My Beer.

The female-fronted three-piece straddles a fine line between garage rock and noise pop, largely retaining the distinctiveness of both genres.  There are Savannah Levin’s muffled, sloppy and slurred vocals, the effortless background drone of lazy chord selections, and of course a thin film of simple melody pulsing through the murky haze.  Their tracks are never as loud or heavy as those of bands like Devil Eyes or current genre focus Wavves, instead projecting a delicate spoken quality akin to indie poppers Lemuria.  For instance, in “I Stopped Caring” and “Virginia” Levin speaks colloquially as if conversing with good friends – always sounding blunt and never self-conscious.

As with most noise pop, making out vocals is challenging, but a few instances of quick wit still shine through.  Particularly in “Habit,” a track about consciously returning to the same one nightstand time and again, Levin confesses to being “a creature of habit” despite “feeling like shit” after each encounter.  But she never complains, instead seeming comfortable to just tell it how it is.

Tears In My Beer barely runs twenty minutes, which considering Museum Mouth’s very consistent, fairly one-dimensional take on noise pop, seems the perfect length.  It ends before it drags and never feels like an obligation to sit through.  Purely due to preference, I’m not certain I’ll be returning to Tears any time soon, but I’m still glad to have become acquainted.  Fans of playful noise pop will be playing this one for weeks.