June 14th, 2012 
Grace Duffy 
Artist: Metric
Album: Synthetica
Genre: Indie rock, new wave
Label: Metric Music International
I had initially planned to describe this record as the very definition of a hot mess, but on reflection, this seems a bit harsh. It’s a flashy album, laden with the kind of narcissistic style and posturing that so informs indie/synth types, but neither this nor the occasional genuinely compelling song is enough to disguise how soulless it feels. Admittedly, there may be something lost in translation here, for I’ve never quite been able to see much merit in airy music set to dreamy female vocals. There are a great deal of very pretty noises and a persistently childlike air of fantasy or wonder, but it has never managed to transcend pleasant background music for me. It’s barely even escapist, for although you can easily wrap yourself in the waifish notes, there’s not much going on amidst them.
It could be argued that it’s less about involvement and more about polished, wistful soul-searching. Emily Haines certainly sounds charming, and Metric have been around for long enough to have built a solid, loyal following. And while much of this seems to float entirely by me, it does have its moments – slick, artful bass lines and instrumental quirks enliven the standard issue, particularly in the album’s first few songs. It just seems to me that Synthetica then embarks on a dramatic plunge into listlessness, spewing out the kind of uber-trendy, vacuous drivel that scores the lives of hipsters fixating on the skinniness of their jeans. The stuffy new age feel and aesthetics will keep the purists happy, but to borrow a Simpsons quote, methinks this genre and I are two positively charged ions.
Synthetica’s first song “Artificial Nocturne” is a lengthy, brooding affair, but it’s on “Youth Without Youth” that the album actually makes a real mark. The riff is typically smooth and assured and Haines is wonderfully sultry – winding and cool, confidently twisting her voice around the words. The beat and atmosphere is intoxicating and the shrill backing effects make everything seem alive and electrified. “Speed the Collapse” is more troubled – not quite haunting, but there is a rush and excitement to its dreamy tones. Even if you have heard this far too often before, the velveteen cushion of waifish vocals and music has an appeal all its own, or at least one that temporarily endears before it becomes repetitious. “Dreams So Real” is also likeable; with a fiery swell in its synths making all seem suspended while Haines motors through her vocals. The final track, “Nothing but Time,” seems to rediscover earlier promise by constructing something roving and suggestive, with kaleidoscopic synth notes creating a surreal sense of excitement. Haines’ dulcet tones work well here, as they contribute to a sense of surprise and adventure, implying something deeper awaits discovery in the lofty music.
Yet, these glimpses of magic aside, there’s far too much unguided restlessness throughout Synthetica for my liking. The affected depth of the songs becomes jarring after a time, and when one tires of ethereal frolics there’s little to hold interest. “Breathing Underwater” opens with a quietly bubbling thrill, but folds in its bland development and barely rescues itself with a series of spiralling guitar notes after the chorus. “The Void” is romanticised and indulgent, taking every effort with its shimmering harmonies to sound sweet and sentimental. It lacks rhythm and flair however, coming across as tired and tiring and leaving the listener wondering where the marauding bass line of the earlier songs disappeared to. “Synthetica” defuses decent rhythm with a dull chorus that veers sporadically from whim to whim, while “Clone” has a fairytale flavour and nostalgic air that dies a death in the midst of so many similar songs. The music is gaudy, but not imposing, and there’s too much about it that strikes as filler. Background notes are content to huddle and muse but there’s no depth, and it feels much like a subconscious tic – like twitching your leg constantly without ever noticing. “The Wanderlust” boasts a guest appearance by Lou Reed, but for something with such a stalwart presence it’s stunningly dull.
Beauty is only skin deep, as they say, and while fans and enthusiasts will undoubtedly get lost in a hail of joy with this dreamlike album, there’s precious little to compel otherwise. There’s nothing technically wrong with it so it can’t really be dismissed as bad, but blandness is a more jarring folly, and Synthetica is all smoke and mirrors.
SCORE: 6/10
Review written by Grace Duffy
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