the Original At Budokan
Of all the world class albums released by Dutch bands this month, the one that truly surprised me is by a band called Hospital Bombers. The main reason I was surprised is that I had never before heard of this band from Amsterdam, even though they apparently played at SXSW way back in 2008. The second reason is that Hospital Bombers’ sophomore album, titled At Budokan, is instantly appealing and shows wit, unique to Dutch pop music.
Google informs me that Hospital Bombers was formed by members of the reasonably well known band Norma Jean, not to be confused with the Christian metalcoreband from Georgia that goes by the same name. Hospital Bombers, despite what their band name might suggest, like the Dutch Norma Jean before, are about as metalcore as an Italian captain is heroic (forgive me for the terrible analogy, I’ve a hangover). At Budokan is perhaps the coziest record I’ve heard since Edward Sharpe’s Up from below (2009), emitting the same kind of newgrass-feel, without actually leaving rock’s domain.
At Budokan is filled to the rim with snug little love songs that don’t aspire to move you on a deep emotional level, but are happy to offer amiable and intelligent entertainment. Each song is more unpretentious than the next, all revolving around a single lyrical idea and a simple melody that rarely alters, even between verse and chorus. Hospital Bombers good-natured folksy blues echoes the E-street band and the Velvet Undergound and everything in between. Susanne Linssen’s perky violin adds a hint of psych-folk and, at times, makes Hospital Bombers sound like Camper van Beethoven.
Hospital Bombers’ comical disposition isn’t restricted to puns like their band name and the album title. The way they put everyday phrases (like Sunday Best, Do the Math and New Car Scent) into a different perspective, reminds me of They Might Be Giants, even though Hospital Bombers never truly utilize the twists in their song. That is one of the few demerits of At Budokan. Another one is that the album’s uniformity now and then crosses the border with monotony. Towards the end of the album that reassuring ‘last round in the pub’ sentiment becomes a bit repetitious. At Budokan misses a Home, a song that stands out and lifts the album. That and the hideous sleeve design are all that keep At Budokan from being an undisputed triumph. Hence the Cheap Trick.