A little over a year ago, in the pages of this very magazine, I prattled on for some 2,500 words about the Blood Brothers. Characters of all types made appearances in the article, levying their opinion about the band—from the simplistic summations of an article in the Stranger to the hyperbolic declarations of a certain Jeff Suffering.

            Well, here I am, faithful reader. Here I am, a year later, in this smoggy, foreign land, without a gang to back me up. On my own. Why such a big fuss about this? Well, since the article was published, a few albums have come out that appear to have out-Brothered the Brothers. Fall of Troy’s self-titled debut, to name one of them, has proven itself to have longer legs, and more interesting ones at that. This is qualified, however, on the basis that the Blood Brothers’ last release, Burn Piano Island, Burn, was essentially a big budget experiment on the band’s part, the chimera made even more bizarre by having Ross Robinson behind the board. Listen to March On, Electric Children or This Adultery is Ripe if you want to hear just how divergent Piano Island was.

            So what does a band do after releasing their Big Rock album, which, incidentally, I still love despite its disappointing lack of longevity? They make a declaration, one not immediately apparent in the first few tracks, and one that I don’t know if the Stranger or Suffering expected: the collective, the id of the group has split straight down the middle. The animus and anima of the single vocal unit have become two separate elements now, living and coexisting independent of one another. But what a beautiful pair they create.

            The two being Johnny Whitney and Jordan Blilie, the former of which went far beyond the simple high-pitched shriek utilized on previous albums, stretching his vocal cords to unbelievable sonic heights and creating a genuinely feminine presence on the disc. Whitney’s punkish channeling of Billy Holiday is penetrated by Blilie’s relatively and therefore definitively masculine vocals, creating not only paradox but (trans)sexual fragility. In some songs, Whitney seems to go for the cooing but still aggressive sound of an abused lounge singer, on the defensive after suffering at the hands of her audience.

            This contrasting method is also utilized wonderfully in "Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck," wherein Whitney's vocals in the verses are light and tremulous, cemented in their femininity by the falsetto and near-warbling "Love, love, love"s that he uses. As the song builds on its free pop, Whitney suddenly reminds the listener of just how sharp and vicious his voice can be—his scream during the bridge is shiver inducing. The way he sets up the listener with such an innocuous presence beforehand is amazing. The rest of the song breaks character, going into a wurlitzer-led, double timed conclusion that nearly falls onto itself before slowing down to a near stop, only to pick up again. The very end of the song is a cacophonic mess of screams, single string hooks, and lurching drums. Beautiful.

            Vocals aside, the band has stripped its sound down a bit, bringing the paroxysm of Piano Island to a violent simmer. They band has grown slightly more comfortable with using recognizable hooks and sonic motifs (a la "Denver Max" from Piano Island), which works greatly to their advantage. If there was one (of a few) complaints regarding the Blood Brothers’ last disc, it would be that they stayed away from hooks that could have used more exposure. Understandably, drawing such direct influence from the Get Hustle and VSS sort of prevents this, and while it most likely wasn't the band’s desire to remain on any one riff for too long, it was still disappointing to hear a great hook appear and then be lost for the rest of the song.

            "Rats and Rats and Rats for Candy" avoids doing this, and in fact does exactly the opposite. Built in what I can best count as being four parts (two "verse" elements and two secondary "verse" elements), with two consistent vocal motifs (Blilie's biting spoken word, Whitney's wailing) utilized throughout, the song rests wonderfully upon a double bridge that is absolutely stunning. Played entirely on one string, bass, and guitars all together, along with Mark Gajadhar's pounding, wonderfully understated and simple drum beat, the second time the band visits the bridge, it feels like the purest release. The small bit of restraint the two singers held throughout is finally dissolved and they completely unload on the listener in a messy splash of sound.

            This is all in keeping with the essential contrasting of the feminine versus the masculine elements of the disc. The album's title track itself has Blilie's vocals a low, two steps away from a whisper tone and Whitney's voice higher than it has been on past albums, with just enough wail, enough sneer and the slightest bit of tremor to insinuate the femininity that I'm almost certain people have been aware of since the band started playing. And if this sounds like a treatise for the greatness of Whitney's vocals at the expense of leaving the rest of the band behind, I'm sorry, but it is deserved. Through the Chromatics, the Vogue, and the Blood Brothers, I've thought of Whitney as an expressive, if not sometimes overly affected vocal presence that wasn't nearly as realized as it ought to have been. On this disc, it feels like he's found some new method, maybe a new approach that effects the outcome. Whatever it is, his voice isn't relegated to searing scream and snotty spoken word device—he's added something to it that has changed its quality drastically. There's something invested in it, in the context of the album and as an instrument in and of itself.

            Whether or not John Goodmanson's work with several groups comprised partially (Blonde Redhead) or in some cases entirely (Sleater Kinney) of strong and unavoidably feminine elements has had an effect on Whitney is unknown, but his production on the album is flawless. Instruments are given more room to breathe, compared to Robinson's somewhat-muddied mix.

            So, now, a year later, I've told you of the disc, the band's declaration of mutual separation, but what of my own declarations? Surely I won't hedge my opinion on this disc, for fear of having another Fall of Troy come out and make my inked words appear foolish.

            No, I won't do that. I will go on record saying that this disc is far more satisfying than Piano Island ever was as I listened to it in preparation for the BANDOPPLER #1 article, and even now, a year later. Out of paranoia of writing from initial reaction and not legitimately founded opinion, and the smallest bit of laziness, I had listened to the album until my inbox was peppered with increasingly urgent requests for a review from the editor. Secure in having listened to this for the past few weeks, I feel confident in my appraisal of Crimes. This album is a huge step forward for the band and Whitney in particular.