Album Review: American Wrestlers - S/T

Whenever I read a review on Pitchfork that was written by known fuck boy Ian Cohen, I often wonder if he’s a) ever listened to music before, but b) if he’s ever even heard of the bands he name drops as points of reference in his reviews.

Eg: his recent review of the self-titled debut from the American Wrestlers project. In his review (giving the album a paltry 6.9, which is not the “kiss of death,” but it’s no great shakes either) he mentions The National and Sparklehorse; neither of which are bands that I would ever think about when listening to something like this.

It’s this kind of shoddy music “journalism” that proves once again that you can’t judge a book by it’s cover, and you (usually) can’t judge a record by its Pitchfork review.

American Wrestlers is the brainchild of Gary McClure, a former member of the Manchester post rock band Working For A Nuclear Free City, and once solo artist, releasing a record two years ago under his own name. This new project is a far cry from either of those other endeavors—blending a bedroom recording aesthetic with an unabashed homage to late 80s and early 90s “alternative rock,” McClure finds a tight balance between the upbeat and the downcast.

On the most pop-driven moments of American Wrestlers, McClure channels a sound similar to that of critical darling and goofball Mac Demarco—though American Wrestlers is million times more palatable musically, and to my knowledge, McClure himself is not an obnoxious caricature whose face needs to be expunged from the Internet. “Holy” and “I Can Do No Wrong” both best exemplify that jangly pop shimmer.

The sharp juxtaposition of that is found on the opening track, the brilliantly titled “There’s No One Crying Over Me, Either,” as well as on the third song “Wild Yonder.” These both show McClure’s ability to switch gears, turning somber, yet still able to write something incredibly accessible—specifically “There’s No One Crying Over Me, Either,” which, for as unassumingly as it slinks along, is packed with surprisingly huge pop hook.

There’s something about American Wrestlers that really reminds me of a record from two years ago by Hebronix—the post-Yuck project of Daniel Blumberg. Coincidentally, Unreal also received a rather tepid Ian Cohen review on P4K. While Hebronix was a very big sounding album thanks to Neil Hagerty’s lush production values and arranging, McClure opts for a very lo-fi affair. The similarities come in the ability to come in the ability to shuck and jive between styles and sounds, yet creative something all together cohesive. It’s impressive, really, and it’s something that you don’t encounter a ton with artists willing to take risks like that.

Clocking in at nine songs, American Wrestlers suffers slightly from some self-indulgent track lengths, and also a tiny bit of “samey-ness” sounding as it hits the latter half of the record. But even a long-ish track like “Left” casts a beautifully downcast shadow in the simple, shimmering, dreamy refrain.

American Wrestlers was written after McClure made the impulsive decision to move from the UK to St. Louis to live with his wife, an exchange student he met while she was abroad. He made the record using pawnshop equipment and instruments, and he still has a day job working at a loading dock of some kind. It’s not the most compelling of backstories, but it adds a certain charm to an already charming listen.

McClure has made an accessible and captivating collection of songs—they aren’t complex, but they don’t need to be. On American Wrestlers McClure demonstrates that even an everyday situation like domesticity in St. Louis can provide the right atmosphere for crafting blissed out, intelligent pop music.

American Wrestlers is out now on myriad formats via Fat Possum.