Deerhoof have put so much blood and sweat into not repeating themselves, it’s become part of their DNA. They labor to sound fresh not just from album to album or track to track, but within songs, measures, and even from one note to another. When I first heard the title Breakup Song, I guessed that it might refer not to the end of a relationship, but to the band’s relentless drive to fracture its tunes– to chop hooks and split beats in hopes of dodging expectations.
It’s a risky tactic, because when surprise is this constant, it can create its own predictability. And while the shock of the new is often exciting, the whiplash of endless novelty can also wear you down. For me, the last few Deerhoof albums have tilted toward sonic exhaustion. But Breakup Song is a nice swing in the other direction. It’s a quick, pithy album, with 11 songs lasting just 30 minutes. There are patches of tedium, but the best moments are both surprising and engaging.
Many of those moments come in an opening four-song head-rush. There’s a lot of nervy sound going on in these tunes, with chords, rhythms, and electronic blips and whirrs darting around the stereo space. But the tone is breezy and fun, with beats that are oddly danceable (“Now I am going dancing/ If you would care to join me,” sings Satomi Matsuzaki at one point) and synths that hint at 1980s pop. On the bouncing “There’s That Grin”, Matsuzaki repeatedly begs, “Not all at once,” and the band obeys for a bit. But they happily rebel on the next track, “Bad Kids to the Front”, a mini-tornado of ping-pong bleeps and pop-up riffs.
When Deerhoof dip down from those peaks, it’s usually due to lulls in energy. Songs that attempt longer grooves sometimes settle into them rather than pushing or pulling at them. Still, the music is rarely formulaic. The occasional flatness comes from Matsuzaki’s singing style. Her tendency to stick to a narrow set of colors and patterns– the same sunny notes, staccato breaths, and see-saw cadences– can be perfect when the band is swirling frantically around her. But when the music needs a starker counterpoint, her consistency is a drawback. Take “Flower”, in which her up-down chant of the empty “Let it go/ Leave it all behind” sounds stale. Or “The Trouble with Candyhands”, where yet another up-down chant, “Then you bring me flowers,” pales next to a marimba-like synth riding the same melodic line. It makes me wonder if someone with a looser, more impulsive style– say the Fall’s Mark E. Smith or Magik Markers’ Elisa Ambrogio– might fare better with Deerhoof’s more repetitive jams.
Luckily, there are many times on Breakup Song where only Matsuzaki will do. My favorite is a three-minute sprint with the telling title “We Do Parties”. Here, drummer Greg Saunier’s spindly beat–always the spine of any Deerhoof tune– weaves a breakneck hybrid of post-punk blast, off-kilter prog, and guitars that evoke the soundtrack of an old Nintendo game. In the middle of it all, Matsuzaki sings about jangletrons, love machines, and something called an “Autojubilator.” It’s fitting imagery for Breakup Song’s charms: hard-working mechanics programmed to entertain.