Valet don’t get anywhere in a hurry. They don’t scream for you to follow them. They don’t boast of the greatness they are achieving before they have achieved it. No. Instead, they come to you casually, they get you to buy them a drink and then say, “Hey. Did you hear about Johnny Ace?”
The bed of music where these stories lie is the kind of perfect pop that reminds you of other local bands like The Hang Ups or a less bombastic Olympic Hopefuls. When the band drops out and singer Robin Kyle and his guitar backpedal from a former lover you realize that sprinkled on top of those sugar melodies are a dirty, nuanced, and dark lyrical world.
The dive bars are where the characters in Valet’s world live. They are picking up pieces of their lives, their relationships, and their memories of the night before. While not a concept album there is this theme running throughout. That is the idea that we are all searching for an answer for what to do next. We do this by drowning our sorrows at Stand Up Franks. Or by driving out of town while Dylan is cranked. Or by trying to sew the last remaining threads of a relationship back together.
This is not unfamiliar territory for a rock band. There are as many songs about girls, booze, driving, and death as there are bands to sing them. Robin Kyle, however, doesn’t play the victim in these vignettes. He just paints the picture and lets you judge and that is why the songs work upon repeated listening.
This is the band’s second full-length record and it arrived with much buzz. What is unusual about that is that Valet are collectively recluse. They rarely play shows, so in turn they rarely promote themselves. That is why it is astounding that this CDs release was accompanied by mainstream press coverage and a packed Turf Club show. I think it very surprising in this decade that music can sell itself just by being great music. It gives hope to the cynical, withered music lover’s soul.
