BY JASMINE ZHU
Daily Arts Writer
Published November 28, 2010
Dreams are hazy, ephemeral things — some are nearly impossible to remember and others completely impossible to forget. San Francisco-based Girls impressively manages to distill the wistfully fleeting quality of dreams in Broken Dreams Club, the stunning follow-up to its 2009 Album debut.
Girls
Broken Dreams Club EP
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By now, avid blog readers and Girls fans are aware of lead singer Christopher Owens’s background. A former member of Children of God, a controversial religious group with roots in the hippie movement, Owens grew up furtively listening to iconic bands like Queen and Guns N' Roses. These bands would later influence the throwback sound of Girls, which has often been compared to the likes of Elvis Costello and the Beach Boys.
The songwriting in the EP is painfully genuine, yet nonspecific enough to be relatable to listeners. Owens’s introspection hovers around, but never breaches, sentimentality. Endearing lines contrast against coarser slang phrases. In “Substance,” Owens sings, “Let go of the wheel / Turn your ass over,” which would be comical if not for his regretful tone. The somber edge gives the song poignancy.
With plenty of tremulous vocals and the occasional muted trumpet, Girls encapsulates dreams in a succinct six-song EP. Nostalgia seeps throughout the EP while Owens slaps on a healthy dose of earnest despair in lines like "I know you feel like I do too / And even though I'm close to you / I can't be what you need / Because you're just as lost as me,” on the title track.
The cover art on Broken Dreams Club is reflective of the dejected tenor and nostalgic air Owens takes throughout the EP. The tetraptych (previously used on Album cover art as well) features the composition of four images suggesting youthful boredom and loneliness. Among them are a sepia-toned television screen displaying two young lovers sharing a cigarette, an anonymous body clad in dirty jeans with an outstretched hand holding the remote, an untidy desk littered in trinkets and white roses — symbolizing either purity or death.
The EP feels like the death of a long-lost dream, perhaps. While Owens’s sense of regret seems real, it’s also distant enough from the present to be remembered with a sad fondness, as Owens reflects on all the “remember when”s of years before. Broken Dreams Club is reminiscent of the ache of an old wound, and listeners are all welcome to join.
