Loud Lucy Makes a Racket
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All the fireworks would have been less interesting had Lane not seemed to have absorbed the verities of 90s pop-rock so effortlessly and naturally. Without sounding imitative, he efficiently manipulates a Cobainesque musical palette of light and dark colors: soft, sometimes lilting verses that suddenly burst into roaring emotional choruses. His lyrics avoid self-conscious artiness and concentrate instead on conveying youthful emotions–love, hurt, anger–simply and straightforwardly. His gift for songwriting harnesses these two forces and grafts them onto direct, no-nonsense melody lines with his malleable, sometimes whispery, sometimes howling voice. You can see Loud Lucy once or twice and find yourself recognizing every song.
The second came out of a state of affairs that’s been dogging the band lately. Now in the enviable position of being the most sought-after Chicago rock property since Liz Phair, Loud Lucy had hooked up early on with Jack Endino, producer on many seminal Seattle works, including Nirvana’s Bleach. He set the band up with an agent named Sandy Roberton, who represents many prominent rock producers. Through Roberton the group talked to some labels, but then the rumor started that they’d been picked up, specifically by PolyGram. Lane and company, who hadn’t signed anything, started feeling cramped. In Austin, Lane recalls, he was dismayed to hear label reps from some very large operations say they weren’t even going to come see the band because it’d already been picked up. At the same time less-desirable industry types were still milling around. “People come up to you and say, ‘I don’t have your tape yet, but I hear you guys are hot,’” Lane says. “You think that sort of thing is just a parody, but it’s not.” Tired from the trip, upset about Post’s experience, and repelled by the density of the looming industry, he lashed out.
