Just about every Regina band ever interviewed by a publication outside of this province has cited the relative isolation and brutal winters and so on and etc. of Saskatchewan as motivating factors for their creative output. Less frequently are mentions of inebriation, desperation, sexual congress, and painful longing made as apparent in such forums, even when they’re more baldly apparent in the lyrical output.
Titling your debut full-length album The Dignity Of Man might seem like a bold maneuver, even if the apparent high-mindedness of such a moniker is off-set by the ridiculousness of the cover art (which features a questionable-looking fellow in a 1990s Mustang juxtaposed against the opulent marble construction of Saskatchewan’s provincial Legislature building). The group’s sense of humour notwithstanding, there is a significant amount of introspection happening here.
As you may have read here before These Estates are a fine group of local chaps who play no frills rock that borders on power-pop in a nice, aggressive way. Dignity bridges the gap between their two previous releases, moving from catchy, high-energy numbers to longer, more complex exercises in the intricacies of riff construction. Or something.
Cameron may be just a few years into his 20′s (I think), which makes it unsurprising that sex and alcohol are among his chief concerns. One of the record’s highlights comes in “Stripes Of Faith,” a gin- and bourbon-soaked lamentation for a lost friend (with a chaser of Catholic guilt) that features a sing-along chorus on par with the Sloan, Replacements, and Hüsker Dü records that seem to have influenced these young fellows. “Brushed Steel” catalogues the physical effects and self-destructiveness of yearning for a vicious, “feral love.” Dynamic closer “Pay Me Some Attention” speaks quite frankly about, uh, sexuality in a way that’s jarring at first to third listens. “The nuances of the way I feel about you can be difficult to pronounce,” he admits on “Happy While United,” taking the long way around to getting in touch with those feelings (Cameron also has a hell of a vocabulary to go with his perspective, which I respect greatly; there aren’t too many albums on which you’ll hear words like ‘polyglots’ and ‘tinctures’ and whatnot).
Like another album that Cameron had some involvement with Cameron’s surroundings occasionally play a part in a more direct fashion. “Highway 11 Theme” and its titular road are more than familiar to Regina music fans who have made the trek north to concerts more times than they would like. When he calls it “a hell of a drive” he’s not exaggerating; aside from the hill at Blackstrap it is a monotonous, excruciating slog that becomes interminably long after dark. At some point it inevitably becomes an almost-reasonable notion to, as Cameron writes, “just stop the car and shed our earthly forms. Leave our bones in a ditch; we won’t need them anymore.”
Each song here boasts propulsive guitar/bass/drum arrangements that show off plenty of creative spirit. Songs like “Pay Me Some Attention” and “Mt.” are fast and hooky numbers in the vein of the band’s first EP. Those songs are great but I’m even more enamoured with the slow-burners that fall more in line with the earlier b-side “Autumn In A Foreign Country.” I already mentioned the tortured barroom lament “Stripes of Faith,” a modestly-bleak recitation of nights spent drowning sorrows at the expense of your last bit of pocket change.
But the highlight might be the measured, percussive “Like Skin.” Kicking off the album’s second side, it features the baritone guitar that is Cameron and Mason Pitzel’s latest weapon. The chunky opening riff melds into a lock-step with the rest of the band during the verses, leading into a quiet, gradual, feedback-laden bridge. Guitars intertwine for a few minutes before the root riff returns, one more sort-of verse capping the song with Cameron’s voice lingering just one aching moment after the instruments cut out. It’s a literally perfect moment. There’s no arguing it.
Really, Cameron’s voice brings it all home. He may not be classically-trained or overtly polished but the dude exudes charisma and a thinly-reined intensity that breaks off its leash when a song needs heightening, like the chorus of the bucking and kicking opener “When The Lovee Breaks.” His passion makes a less-than-seamless transition into falsetto not only okay but full-on Bill and Ted-style EXCELLENT.
“Everything has got its own dialect,” Cameron declares on the record’s second half. His assertion that intent informs the beauty in art likely wasn’t meant to be an overt entreaty for his audience to look deeper at his own songs (especially since he follows it with the delightful bon mot, “I love the Romantic languages but I’d do anything for your Slavic tongue”) but it could be; there is a rough-hewn and caustic veneer on some of these songs but the honesty, insight, and occasional ignobility of Cameron’s words make them something approaching masterpieces, each worthy of being paid some attention.
This might be a contender for my new favourite Saskatchewan album. But, to quote These Estates one last time, we’ll see how it goes.
Do not hesitate to purchase this record and everything else you can get from These Estates’ Bandcamp page. Do it, PLEASE. You can also check them out live at the record release show on Feb. 22 at The Exchange with Coldest Night Of The Year and Treebird. All the beard rock you can handle!
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