San Francisco’s Weekend make a gang of noise. They let the feedback ring with the pop sensibility of The Cure and the edge of A Place To Bury Strangers. Their most recent effort, Jinx, is one of my favorite records of the past few months. Weekend have an extremely minimal approach to songwriting, yet they play it like they’re packing U2-sized arenas. It’s bombastic, it swells, and it’s rock and roll.
Six minute songs bore me to death. Oddly enough, there’s a few cuts on Jinx flirting with that epic barrier. What helps is the use of repetitive, almost chanted chorus’s; they wash your face and hands in all that tepid feedback. You think it might put you to bed, but it has the opposite effect. Just when you yawn, “July” punches you in the gut, while “Oubliette” might be the cheeriest sad song since Ben Gibbard wrote that sappy UPS jingle.
Support the band and grab the record on iTunes, or wherever you buy music. If you’re a pirate, remember, God is watching. Weekend made mine more pleasant, even at the tail end of a Sunday.