Father, Son, Holy Ghost, the second full-length by San Francisco’s ‘it’ band, Girls, is unabashed with it’s affection for pop music’s touchstones. The fact that It crams as many influences into a single complete thought (still called an album in the digital era) is a credit to producer, Doug Boehm, each performer, and songwriter, Christopher Owens.
Take this and more in one sitting: Beach Boys meets Ramones (Honey Bunny) meets Black Sabbath (Die) meets John Fahey (Just A Song) meets all kinds of Pink Floyd (Vomit)- and even a touch of Sam Cooke (Love Like a River) thrown into a blender with many flavors of American Power & Brit-Pop (Alex, Saying I Love You, Magic). Many artists have taken stabs at this approach before but rarely- if ever- does it approach the same company of those it pays homage, along with leaving it’s own imprint. The emotion in Owen’s songs, lyrically is beyond overwhelming, and because of this, the influences become second thoughts.
There’s nothing complicated about what Girls has done with Father, Son, Holy Ghost, but when Owens repeats Come into my heart on Vomit—before the Fahey-esque intro to Just A Song— and your eyes close, it’s hard not to be convinced that music like this isn’t a religious, fucking, experience. Forget Kanye’s My Beautiful Twisted Delirious Escapade in a Jacuzzi Tub— Girls’ Father, Son, Holy Ghost is the first, true, complete, classic pop record of the new decade. It is truly, ‘love- like a river.’ I’ll gladly eat these words in 9 years if you don’t agree.