Natural Child – 1971

Oh garage rock and your many layers of static fuzz.  You just never know what treasure waits buried below all that amped up feedback.  Natural Child is one of those recent bands many have found themselves wading through the murky haze in search of that glistening prize.  While some seem to have emerged with golden egg in hand, I’m still grasping blindly in the mist.  The Nashville, Tennessee trio puts up quite a smoke screen of stoner rock around their every move, and it’s distracting in the best of circumstances.

The group’s sense of singularly focused tongue in cheek humour finds them taking the easy way out for most excursions.  Singing with an intoxicated slur, their first impression on slacker anthem “Easy Street” dreams about a high that will “never stop” amidst a haze of sloppy psych-rock solos.  The slacker mentality even permeates the seven day work week of “Hard Workin’ Man.”  “Yer Birthday” takes an anti-celebratory stance for entering your twenties, starting with “it ain’t no fun when you turn 21, you think you’re gonna change but you won’t get nothing done” and describing a downward spiral of boredom.  I know it’s intended with little lighthearted humour, but if album context is any indication, I’m pretty sure they’re speaking from experience.  And who wants to hear another song about “Yoko?”  That they end the album with the slurred, half-funny slow grinder “Beer” only solidifies my musings.

This isn’t to say 1971 is without merit – in fact some tracks really hit the spot musically.  A few of the most experimental moments, like the analogue flooded “C’Mon” pushes imperfections so far forward that they momentarily forget their Rolling Stones obsession for a demo-quality Bob Dylan style front porch twanger.  “Let It Bleed” even features a momentarily awakening for an active charger combining Natural Child with other 70’s throwbacks including the squeaky falsetto of Portugal. The Man.  Even the lyrically cringe worthy “White People” steps up with a soulful dose of hand clapping blues.

1971 exemplifies a capable trio bogged down by a singular obsession.  I get that the whole garage thing and many of these themes go hand in hand, but the hit-or-miss lyrics really sell listeners short.  A mediocre offering by a talented band in need of some extra motivation.