Alright, yeah, I could
find a way to work any Gaslight album into any list. They resonate with me in a way that no other
band probably ever will. Their intense
debut LP is flawed in all the right ways, and its go-for-broke attitude makes
for a fitting soundtrack to the finite window of infinite possibility that is
proverbially summer.
The songwriting that
would go on to define Gaslight Anthem is in its rawest form on Sink or Swim, but the unbridled
urgency and desperation with which they storm out of the gates shines as the
band’s backbone. From the moment
Boomboxes and Dictionaries kicks in, the album rages like a nautical storm that
never lets up. I Coul’da Been a
Contender makes no secret early on what you’re in for- “There’s a dirty wind
blowing in…/it’s heads or tails and heart attacks and broken dreams
tonight”. This is a storm of nostalgia
and regret and desire and discontent and Brian Fallon charges headlong into it
because he knows it’s all that he’s got.
Along the way muscular
guitar rhythms are juxtaposed with open-wound vulnerability. Through brutal honesty and Springsteenian
imagery, Fallon places himself as well as the listener in the underdog role of
a fleeting moment where everything is magnified. He has an insatiable lust for life, desirous
of everything at the same time. This
makes his writing and persona refreshing and vital, but is a mindset which
breeds suffering. He channels haunting
memories and indecision into visceral outbursts before leaving himself to bleed
out in the album’s more plaintive moments (The Navesink Banks). Fallon finds cathartic solace in late-album
standout I’da Called You Woody, Joe.
Effectively a love song to punk rock, “I’da Called…” recounts Brian’s
experience of first listening to The Clash.
It perfectly depicts the life-affirming magic brought by connecting with
the perfect music when you need it most.
It is here that the clouds begin to part. The scathing We’re Getting a Divorce, You
Keep the Diner plays like a breaking point, with Brian ultimately cutting his
losses. As the ending gang-vocals ring
out, they sound like a declaration of temporary victory in an unseen, internal
war (“It’s alright man, I’m only bleeding man/stay hungry, stay free, and do
the best you can”). The harmonica and
acoustic guitar that usher in closing track Red at Night provide a jarring
change of pace, and signify that the storm, for now, is over. The
lyrics gradually morph from “Ain’t nobody got the blues like me” into “Ain’t
nobody got a blessing like mine”, as Fallon seems to find the willingness to
accept the bad with the good (“Seems a blessing’s so hard to see sometimes/Got
a little clearer ‘bout dusk that night”).
As the old saying goes: “red sky at night, sailor’s delight”. It closes the album on an optimistic note,
the type of anti-closure with which the best summers always seem to end.
This is not the
confident, polished band that would release The ’59 Sound a year later and
serve at the forefront of modern punk for the next several years. This is the sound of a young band laying
everything out, right here and right now.
Sink or Swim is what it sounds like making the leap to go after what you
want because you’ve got nothing to lose.
There is naivety in idealism and the album sometimes seems to get caught
in its own wake, but in its vulnerability there is authenticity. This is the sound of a heart on the sleeve of
a fist in the air.
