Harrys Gym - What Was Ours Can't Be Yours
- Written by Russell Warfield
Just lately, we’ve not really found ourselves in want of acts offering up dreamy hazes with a breathy, female vocal. In particular, our comrades from the continental mainland seem to be especially fond of providing us with liberal doses of music like this. And swirling around somewhere within this ever increasing line up are Harrys Gym – from Norway – now releasing their sophomore album. (Yes – that missing apostrophe keeps me up at night too, but apparently that shit flies in Norway). The question is, with so many bands of a similar nature competing for our attentions at the moment (you won’t read a single review of this record which doesn’t somewhere contain that currently trending adjective ‘ethereal’, for example. Look out for my use of the word, coming up later), what does this record do to keep its head above the choppy waters?
But, by putting Frøkedal so squarely front and centre, it could be said that the band loses a sense of character as a result. In reality, these songs on What Was Ours Can't Be Yours actually sprawl quite widely in terms of texture and instrumentation: some are driven by languid guitar, some by propellant electronics, and others by scuzzy basslines. But, owing to what is arguably an overreliance on Frøkedal’s swooping vocals, the music can blur into a homogeneous mass. Indeed, even on the level of the single song, the things unfurl silkily and evenly: choruses slide out of verses with little announcement by way of cadence or drum fill; the hooks softly ambush you from the side. Rarely do the songs rely on huge chord changes or textural shifts to differentiate between chorus and verse - instead, it's communicated purely through vocal.
It’s a technique which works beautifully up to a point, but pales in comparison to the technique of brilliant early single ‘Attic’ whose tremendous hook was bolstered by a stab of assertive guitar. And indeed, it is when Harrys Gym sell their hooks by flexing a bit of muscle is when they shine most brightly, rather than underselling them with stripped back or static instrumentation. Take highlight ‘Sailing Man’, for example, and listen to how the drums suddenly rush in to accompany the vocal climax.
But, unfortunately, examples of the band’s instrumentation and Frøkedal’s voice working in such effective tandem are all too rare. Instead, Harrys Gym leans too heavily on the rise and fall of Frøkedal’s ethereal melodies and harmonies – a trick you’ve heard plenty of times before, and can’t solely withstand the weight of our attention for the duration of an album. Ultimately, What Was Ours Can’t Be Yours is a perfectly charming record with plenty of gorgeous moments, but lacks the character required to differentiate itself from albums made by other acts of a similar ilk.