Smith Westerns are a three-piece band from Chicago whose aggregate age makes them younger than my dad. They're so young, in fact, that my friend went to one of their gigs with their babysitter. I would say 'former babysitter', but I doubt she ever tendered a formal resignation. All this probably means they should be apeing Animal Collective or some other zeitgeisty bullshit - fortunately, they've been stuffing their little faces full of delicious glam-rock instead.
They released their first album last year, having snuck one of its songs (My Heart) onto the annual Rough Trade Counter Culture compilation. For me, that single suffered from the same basic drawback as the rest of the album: poor mixing and too much feedback. That sound would suit a lot of bands, but not one for whom it was so obviously obscuring their main selling point - neatly constructed three-minute guitar pop songs.
This album corrects that glaring flaw. Either someone pointed it out, or touring has given them the confidence to let their songwriting speak for itself. That's not to say they've lost their edge - they've simply refined it for sharing. Just like its predecessor, Dye It Blonde is littered with infectious melodies: now you can actually hear them. If you've come across new single Weekend, chances are you've already whistled the riff in the shower. Yes, we're back in the 70s - but this is 70s rock as lovingly reinterpreted by Britpop's Bowie acolytes while these guys were busy being born, with most of the anachronistic cock-rock missteps safely tucked away. Suede should be proud. Free Energy should be taking notes.
All Die Young is the pivotal track - Smith Westerns could follow its mantra and still have time to make ten years of brilliant music first. They probably won't, but Dye It Blonde is still a giant leap towards a consistent and reliable pitch. If you haven't already found Smith Westerns lurking in a hazy beer-soaked bar, you might just catch them lighting up a small festival stage this summer.
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