Youth Without Youth

So I was listening to all-request radio on WFPK this morning because my hands were too cold to plug in my phone to the auxilary jack in my car, and I was only going to the post office. The problem is: I hate all-request radio. Or whatever they call it. Because, let's face it. People have no taste. I mean, seriously? You're going to request a cover of U2's "Pride (In the Name of Love)" by Dierks Bentley? Are you even a real person? Was this a joke? If so, you win. But anyone listening to the radio is losing three minutes of life.

Luckily, a real person called the station. I know because I heard this gem from Metric's latest album, which I thought I was sick of after listening to it 14 times to review it. But I'm not. Apparently only the song "Artificial Noctourne" makes me want to hurl things at my speaker -- not the rest of the album. Phew. I was starting to worry my girlcrush on Emily Haines was facing some lovers woes or something.

"Youth Without Youth" is the only jam (today) that makes me involuntarily swing my arms around and feel cool while doing so. (Don't worry, it's not cool.)

Metric - Synthetica

The dark edge of Metric’s music does not hang like clouds over the band’s latest set of songs. It’s eerie and disconcerting, but grounded in a realism that the band calls its first attempt of “facing what you know is true.” So the Montreal foursome has come down from the skies of 2009’s Fantasies -- which wasn’t exactly a spritely dance through the heavens -- and landed on flat feet, in dark basements. Ten years together as Metric has by no means taken away the underground cool of its aura. Rather, the sound is growing sharper and tighter as it pulses into the night air.

“Youth Before Youth” is insanely catchy, an ode to the best of Depeche Mode, all buzzy bass and punchy percussion. Emily Haines gives rock stars something to aim for, her cunning hiss as powerful as the growl or garble we’ve come to accept as a strong vocal. Feedback hisses through the song like a tea kettle ready to explode, adding to the song’s unrelentless tension.

Nothing else on the album matches that energy, but that doesn’t mean it’s lacking. “I’ll shut up and carry on/a scream becomes a yawn” echoes through the moodier ”Dreams So Real,” a quiet ode to repression where ringing guitars and subtle synths lull you into a stupor. Following it with “Lost Kitten” is brilliant, as the peppy, Cardigans-esque number brings us back to life with effervescent chimes and a chugging verse-chorus-verse that’s as close as Metric will ever get to cheerleading.

There’s something untouchable here that’s so, just, Metric. It’s not easy to pull off jagged guitar riffs that prompt reckless behavior and dance marathons all at once, all while maintaining an anthemic quality. As these four Canadians reach more people with a growing fan base, they’re not shying away from the same driving rhythms and melodies that color their earliest songs. They are just as edgy they always have been. And grounded in the truth, their songs are only getting better.