Broken Social Scene
Forgiveness Rock Record
(Spunk)
Billed as a comeback, or at least a consolidation of the band’s considerable assets, the fourth Broken Social Scene album even has renewal woven into its name. While this might be enough to uproot the dodgy karma sown by the band’s bloated self-titled 2005 outing, Forgiveness Rock Record is only as tight and focused as a digressive collective with a revolving door of guests allows. In other words, this is no detour: bombast is still the default setting on this hour-long album, even if the second half cruises through a lot of mellow instrumental space. It’s all Broken Social Scene exemplified: octopus-armed anthems centred on Kevin Drew’s catchy songwriting and an epic swell that’s part jam band and part symphony orchestra.

Sonically it goes down a treat, thanks to production by Tortoise guru John McEntire. The band remains atmospheric and frayed but has never sounded quite so clear. As if a booming roster and inveterate producer weren’t enough, the album’s laundry list of guests include Pavement guitarist Spiral Stairs and Sea & Cake frontman Sam Prekop, both icons of the ’90s indie rock Broken Social Scene have long worshipped. Yet so much of this album feels like reinforced tactics from previous BSS albums: long and dissolute jams (‘World Sick’, ‘Ungrateful Little Father’), post-rock flourishes (‘Texaco Bitches’), hammy lyrics (‘Art House Director’), and Dinosaur Jr. rehashings (‘Water In Hell’). ‘Sentimental X’s’ even unites the band’s erstwhile female voices – Leslie Feist, Emily Haines, and Amy Millan – in one place. It’s cool, but it’s more of the same.

Despite the conventional wisdom, Forgiveness Rock Record is less a remaking of Broken Social Scene than a predictably unpredictable 60 minutes of grandiose musical excess. It solidifies everything winsome (the songs) and frustrating (the constant free-for-all) about this band, piling on so many ideas that the band’s 2002 breakthrough You Forgot It In People seems lean by comparison. Unless you’re truly in the mood, it’s a bit of a slog.

Doug Wallen