With his 12-string and infatigable obsession with pop music, Slater is uniquely equipped to carry the mantle of not only Pollard and Chilton, but the Byrds too, or the Temptations, the Four Tops, and every other artist trying to nail true love to tape. He employs the “asking for forgiveness not permission” tactic when tasked with borrowing from these greats, our only option is to forgive Slater for giving us these gems of rock n roll, propelling it from the past into a future so melodiously flawless, yet jagged and sincere, we can’t help but thank him too for rescuing the genre from irrelevance. Because what Slater adds is entirely his own. An ineffable songwriting sensibility, that despite the heavy borrowing, can only be his. By the end of the album, you swallow whatever anger or incredulity you may have had and accept that yes, the Sharp Pins really are that good. Throughout the spanning but never indulgent LP, he crafts a world peppered with small pop gems, so simply and stupidly good, they remind us another world is possible. Because it’s not just that the songs are impossible to get out of your head, which they are. It’s that Slater’s own devotion to this pursuit of the perfect pop song makes us believe it is not only possible, but enough to give life shape and color again.
