Orange County quartet Thrice has been hailed as a post-hardcore trailblazing act for several years now, quietly building a respectable cult following with its first three successful studio albums. Unfortunately, "Vheissu," the band's latest offering, falls flat in spite of a sincere effort on Thrice's part to step beyond the aggressive pop-punk sounds on which it has capitalized in the past. The album's title is an obscure allusion to the band's process of reinventing itself; a reference from Thomas Pynchon's novel "V," "Vheissu" is meant to mimic the German question "Wie Heisst du," or "What are you called?" With cover art by author Dave Eggers, most recently of "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" fame, Thrice in fact seems intent on setting itself apart from the rest of the punk scene intellectually as well as artistically.
"Vheissu" isn't all bad. It succeeds as a departure from the screaming, guitar-riffing tracks Thrice fans have embraced on previous albums. Almost certainly, it represents an important step in the band's ongoing development. It just isn't very original. For example, "Image of the Invisible," the album's opener and first single, calls to mind a number of equally underwhelming anthems. "We all were lost now we are found / No one can stop us or slow us down," sings Dustin Kensrue, who also wrote all the album's lyrics.
Thrice gets mellow on "Between the End and Where We Lie," a track that does little to distinguish itself from the influx of angst-ridden pop-rock on the airwaves these days. They try again -- and almost redeem themselves -- with "Atlantic," a slow, dreamy song with a nice acoustic sound.
But on "For Miles," a bland if sincere track about how it makes people feel better to share their pain with others -- who knew? -- Kensrue resorts to the sort of clichd lyrics that should make any self-respecting, Pynchon-reading pseudo-punk rocker feel ashamed. "And all of our pain, will fade away when morning comes / And on that day when we look backwards we will see, that everything is changed," he declares earnestly. Yawn.
To the band's credit, Thrice tries to say something interesting about societal relationships and, more importantly, spirituality. "Music Box" finds the band promising, "We are not alone, we feel an unseen love / We are sons and heirs of grace / We are children of a light that never dims." The theme of hope, central to "Vheissu," gets voiced most explicitly on "Stand and Feel Your Worth," an intense track awash in religious imagery. "Wake, we will weigh and drink this cup, we will burn / But we will not burn up," croons Kensrue. The band wins points with "Of Dust and Nations," a reflection on the ephemeral nature of culture and life. "Put your faith in more than steel," they caution, neatly avoiding the banality traps surrounding such a subject.
However, Thrice hasn't completely broken from its screamo-esque past. They do a commendable job of alternating ballads with heavier tracks, making the album seem balanced without appearing contrived. Yet Kensrue subjects his vocal cords to more characteristic abuse on several songs, such as the deja-vu-inducing "The Earth Will Shake." This weak track revisits rise-of-the-oppressed themes that, granted, have made for worse songs by more obnoxious bands. "We dream of ways to break these iron bars / We dream of black nights without moon or stars," the song begins. Insert sigh of resignation. Ah, yes, the requisite anger-fest: "The world has sold out, one day they will understand us, blah, blah, blah." It's a shame that Thrice's songs can't do justice to the idea of global social consciousness that they seem to hope "Vheissu" will promote. Even the best of intentions don't compelling music make.
A number of influences have shaped the band over the course of their admittedly low-key career. At this point, they seem unsure of whether they want to be Radiohead, U2 or both. Artistically, "Vheissu" does achieve something, experimenting on various tracks with surprising chord shifts, a Japanese-music-box tune and an a cappella chorus. "Red Sky," the final track, puts a piano to good use and just about captures the haunting but uplifting melody that the band seems to be shooting for throughout the album. But even so, the lyrics make it difficult not to write the song off as just, well, silly. "The wind's a cheating wife, her tongue a thirsty knife / And she could take your life with one good kiss," sings Kensrue.
Elsewhere on the album, he vocalizes his dread of "that awful sound, the sound of prophecy fulfilled." What does a prophecy sound like while being fulfilled, exactly? Thrice doesn't seem to know, but one thing remains clear: the only sound these guys should be worried about is the sound of many people feeling very disappointed by this album. Wait, that doesn't make a sound either. Damn.
