White Lies

The Brits have a lot to boast about when it comes to their contribution to the definitive catalog of 80s tunes. With bands like Echo and the Bunnymen, Depeche Mode, and the Cure, it’s pretty obvious why time and again fledgling rock groups have appropriated the musical aesthetic of their compatriots.

White Lies, a London based trio formerly known as Fear of Flying, is no exception to the rule. Featuring a nostalgic veneer of haunting melodies, morbid song titles, and even more melancholic lyrics, the outfit’s U.S. debut, “To Lose My Life...,” is a fitting tribute to the pantheon of 80s British music icons.

But White Lies can offer more than just a touch of despair. Despite their channeling of influences, they are a far cry from entirely derivative. White Lies has in part made their name from their more lighthearted, danceable fair. On “To Lose My Life...” they showcase their modern sound with an array of songs that run the gamut from the danceable to heart-wrenching. Unfortunately, the thematic content does not keep pace with this diversity and modernity. Throughout the album, White Lies eschew lyrical or topical gravitas in favor of the trite and the maudlin.

The ease with which the band has transitioned into one of the newest indie rock darlings can be attributed to the alluring quality of lead singer Harry McVeigh’s streamlined vocals. Yet, this ability doesn’t fully compensate for the shallow character of the lyrics, which rely almost exclusively on repetitive themes of love, death, obsession, and the occasional depression-induced suicide. The songs are morbid at best, and at their worst, such as in the slow ballad “Nothing To Give,” deathly boring. Space age glittery synth beats overwhelm straining vocals, but fail to mask what is clearly a sub-par rendition of Cure-esque mope-rock.

McVeigh often harps on simplified clichés about the inextricable link between love and death, though he does deliver his elementary lyrical content with a reserved aplomb that salvages a handful of good tunes. Gifted with an eerie and reverberating baritone reminiscent of Ian Curtis, McVeigh has an uncanny knack for delivering the most vacuous lyrics with commendable seriousness and brooding passion.

The title track, while arguably the strongest song on the album and the one with the most commercial appeal, sounds at times like the pubescent diary entries of a lovesick and paranoid teenager: “He said to lose my life or lose my love / That’s the nightmare I’ve been running from.” It gets even more bizarre when the band attempts to imbue the lyrics with sappy romanticism, as in the chorus: “Let’s grow old together / And die at the same time.” Likewise, many songs include hooks of catchy and simply crafted couplets with the explosive intensity of a jarring guitar to boot. But if White Lies aren’t more careful with their limited repertoire of lyrical influences, they’ll soon find themselves one swipe of the black eyeliner away from being hurtled into emo obscurity.

But on “Fifty On Our Foreheads,” this tendency to wax melancholic is superseded by pulsing snare and bass, which transitions from an unassuming introduction to an uplifting finale. Opening with a soothing interplay between the swirling tones of the omnipresent synthesizer and pacing drums as the perfect complement to McVeigh’s initially understated tonalities, the track suddenly progresses into an exhilarating and momentous thrill ride that awakens the listener from what has otherwise been a rather lethargic and long-winded reverie on morbidity.

Alas, a song that succeeds both lyrically and musically is a rarity. This discrepancy reveals that White Lies is still maturing, a necessary prerequisite before the band can produce more cohesive tracks that showcase a stronger, more original lyrical footing capable of complementing the solid instrumental backing. In “E.S.T.,” McVeigh sings, “I hope you remember me / I hope you pretend for me,” which seems to imply that the anxiety of mortality is clearly an issue for the band. But only time will tell if White Lies can branch out of their current influences to navigate through the wake of their recent hype.

—Staff writer Eunice Y. Kim can be reached at kim30@fas.harvard.edu.