Fang Island’s perspective was unabashedly positive—their 2010 debut full-length opened and closed with crackling fireworks, two years before fellow “hell yeah” rockers Japandroids did the same on Celebration Rock. But these songs are less interested in recounting a play-by-play of a great night out than capturing the sound of that warm and infinite feeling. When these songs do include lyrics, the verses ring out like long-lost folk standards: “They are all within my reach/They are free,” they sing, plainly but with conviction, on “Dreams of Dreams.” “Daisy” conjures Tommy via very few actual words, every verse dissolving into a group chant of vowel sounds.
The magic of Fang Island was this ability to evoke joy in the form of guitar solos and drum fills, their wordlessness leaving room for individual exuberance. Perhaps that’s why their second and final album, 2012’s Major, feels like a retreat from the band’s mission. Combining lopsided rhythms and spring-loaded melodies with piano and more narrative lyricism, Major puts words to the emotions Fang Island’s songs had previously only suggested. There’s a completeness to these songs, but also a natural limitation: It’s harder to share in a collective release when faced with more concrete images, like “Your legs lie so full of grace they’re frightening.” Still, of these three reissues, Major sounds the sharpest, the remaster wringing even more out of the guitars on “Chompers” and the synths on “Asunder.”
Bolstered by an indie rock boosterism that feels deliriously far from the music industry today (I originally found them when the deep-fried synth freakout “Life Coach” landed on a playlist created for Urban Outfitters), Fang Island reflected the enthusiasm of their surroundings. It’s fitting then, that this reissue includes the final song the band recorded, “Starquake,” performed live countless times but previously only released via a limited-edition flexi disc. Written in 2006 but tracked in 2014, the song is an eerily contained summary of the band’s history: A piano gives way to competing guitars that spiral upwards like a Guns N’ Roses cover band playing in heaven. The band cycles through rhythms like they’re playing the overture to a musical about Fang Island, a dizzying onslaught that compresses a decade-long career into five giddy minutes.
The version of “Starquake” featured on this reissue was recorded at Silent Barn, one of the many now-defunct venues in New York that elevated groups of college friends to national status. As internet archives fade and digital files degrade, it’s easier than ever to lose sight of a moment in the recent past when bands could be propelled from living room shows to opening for the Flaming Lips by a few positive reviews online. Santos Party House is now an axe-throwing bar, and Urban Outfitters is currently running a sale on vinyl copies of 1989. But on these reissues, Fang Island still sound like an endless party, a final round of high-fives for everyone before the lights come on.
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