The Golden Republic must be from a different Kansas City than the one I grew up in. Their self-titled debut suggests a city of sugary lights, smoky eyeliner, electric guitars and David Bowie posters on bright bedroom walls.
My memories are less glamorous, punctuated by strip malls, movie theaters, relentlessly boring days and aimless driving, curfew-skirting, marginally exciting nights.
But maybe they aren't so different, after all. The Golden Republic is the ultimate product of a city with vast dreams and promising futures, fed by nervous restless energy and abundant free time.
"The Golden Republic" is the perfect soundtrack for a modern suburbia affected by a big-city mentality and MTV-filtered culture. Their music is glam rock for the masses, knocking Ziggy Stardust off his platform shoes and forcing him to touch the ground.
The album opens with a Hendrix-worthy guitar riff, accelerates into a classic punk rhythm and then mixes in the Beach Boys' harmonies.
"The Turning of the World" is much like a memorable weekend, ending hardly before you knew it began.
The table is set for the rest of the album to feast on. This feast is a celebration of both sides of the '70s musical coin, which is cashed in before dusting off the residue of earlier eras. The prize is 11 solid songs of pure fun that are messy enough to rock but still pretty enough to pop.
Ben Grimes' vocals vary from taunting to desperate, backed with enough oohs and ahs to sweeten the power-pop punch. His range is tested with the falsetto chorus of "I'll Do Anything," which he manages like a glittering icon. In songs like "She's So Cold," the lead guitar and pounding drums provide the drama while Grimes' vocals keep it from reaching the pure theatrics of their idols.
It's this accessibility that allows the Golden Republic to nest in your head, but it is this familiarity that could also be their downfall. The danger of being too generic is always palpable. A couple more down steps and you'd have the Hoobastank brand of bland.
Another danger with music this relatable comes in the fear of appearing too provincial or crude. Fortunately, the Golden Republic knows how to reach the masses without dumbing down anything. Their music still has the impression of high-class intelligence without the snobbery.
The synthesizer makes a stylish appearance in songs like "NYC." The heart-wrenching and gut-grabbing ballad "Things We Do" manages to be memorable, despite lacking the energy that propels the other tracks. And just when the monster of mediocrity is due to appear, the stellar "Robot" shames it to retreat.
"Not My Kind" shines in a mix of acoustic and electric guitar. The relentless drums that drive this mix also show up on "Full of Yourself," a reminder of exactly how they got inside your head and why they will be staying there.
The Golden Republic's killer debut is a strong statement not only about their influences but about their hometown as well. Long reduced to the oft-forgotten middle child that strives to be cool like its older brother in the east, and resenting the attention given to its younger brother in the west, middle America is ready to claim its share of the spotlight.
