Rating: NNN
Steeped in a thick fug of sweat socks, beautifully humble boy-crush insecurity and summer job stress, the debut EP from Hamilton’s Charlemagne has an awesome muscular quality that sets it apart from the output of so many of their sad-sack indie rock peers. Like the Constantines reared on power pop instead of Fugazi, Charlemagne careen along, driven by rough Springsteenesque vocals, aggressive, dense guitar riffs and spiky synths but still cheerily embrace bright, heartfelt melodies. Though the collective dude vocals can be a bit too evocative of generic bar rock bands, the quintet’s engaging lyrics – portraits of nervous guys thrilled that their girlfriends are veiling hotness in tracksuits, jobs as mundane as their elevator muzak soundtrack, and the complexity of family histories – suggest these guys have potential to burn.
Charlemagne hit the Horseshoe Wednesday (February 14).
