The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart: "Heart in Your Heartbreak"

It took me a while to warm to the Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. Their eponymous debut arrived at a time when my boyfriend was going through a twee pop phase, and he was all “Black Tambourine this” and “Sarah Records that.” I was dedicated to listening to the Hold Steady nonstop. To me the Pains were just girly, lighthearted, and jangly, faceless adjectives coming out of the stereo, unable to get me any closer to confirming whether Holly was a hood rat, or if Gideon indeed had a pipe made from a Pringles can.

Then, on one sunny day in May, as if inspired by the season, I put on The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart (2009) and didn’t take it out until August. The album’s ingratiating hooks just kept sounding sweeter, the guitars just kept feeling louder; it was a simple piece of work, but inspired.

And it’s become obvious they have inspiration to spare: they released an EP last fall, and now the first single from their 2011 sophomore effort, Belong, is out on Slumberland. “Heart in Your Heartbreak” is certainly characteristic of the band—airy vocal, chiming chorus, and ’80s guitar—but I’m again, unfortunately and initially, underwhelmed. This is the first single?

“Heart in Your Heartbreak” just doesn’t really sound like that much fun; the Pains sound like they’ve lost some freshness. Perhaps their culprits are noticeably cleaner production and generally downplayed rhythm guitar; Kip Berman’s vocals, shimmery and whispery enough to get lost in the mire of the band’s debut, are here at the forefront—which is good in that he has a pleasant voice, but not-so-good in the attention it draws to the lyrics. Not quite cringe-inducing, they’re still mostly phoned-in: “She was the heart in your heartbreak / She was the miss in your mistake.” Cute.

On the plus side, the Pains Of Being Pure At Heart have obviously taken more care this time around to focus on song structure and take some risks. “Heart in Your Heartbreak” builds nicely, from simple strumming to symphonic synths to, by mid-song breakdown, all-out crunchy, alt-rock guitars. It’s more Cars than Jesus and Mary Chain, the shy mumbling kid making a bold move for the dancefloor. The only problem is the inhibition that comes with doing so—this is the sound of a band trying on confidence without checking the size. Here’s holding out hope it’s a grower.