Words by: Sam Walker-Smart
Four years after their LP, Hollywood Park, and nearly two decades since their debut, Los Angeles indie rock veterans The Airborne Toxic Event have returned with their seventh album. At nine tracks and a 36-minute runtime, Glory offers a breezy yet anthemic exploration of frontman Mikel Frans Jollett’s world of doomed love and tortured pasts. Jollett, once raised in a cult, is now a New York Times-bestselling author and respected editor. His songs evoke a deep sense of nostalgic American grandeur. What they sometimes lack, though, is a sense of originality, a quality that is once again on display here.
The album begins promisingly with “Our Own Thunder Road” and “Hole in My Heart,” two tracks reminiscent of an indie sleaze-era Springsteen. The opener name-checks the Boss himself. While it leans into pastiche, Jollett and his band successfully capture the same passion that has defined the iconic artist for the past 50 years. Both tracks are explosive, inviting sing-alongs and urging listeners to raise their lighters or iPhones in the air and sway along.
Unfortunately, the momentum falters when “Frank Pigg” plays. It’s a forgettable glam rock stomper that resembles a rejected Black Keys song and feels like it was created solely for a DoorDash ad. “Jenny” quickly rights the ship; the acoustically driven love song captures the intimacy of Jollett’s lyrics, even if they risk coming off as overly earnest. “Note To Self” doesn’t gfare as well, as the band mimics The Smiths to such a degree that the opening chords are identical to the British act’s beloved 1984 b-side “Back to the Old House.” Adding insult to injury, the frontman’s decides to whip out a thesaurus and go full Morrissey with references to cunning, death, and unrequited affection.
The Airborne Toxic Event wisely leans into their strengths in the album’s second half. They deliver a genuine earworm with the laid-back groove of “It Never Happened At All.” The title track evokes epic road trip vibes, creating a sense of adventure. Together, these tracks create a strange package. With Miriam “Mimi” Peschet’s violin adding a sweeping, wistful texture that complements Jollett’s down-and-out vocals, the group crafts an enjoyable blend of noughties indie and Americana. But it’s frustrating that there’s little that feels fresh or new to latch onto.
At its best, Glory gets the heart pumping, and the opening trio of songs will undoubtedly slay live. At its worst, it’s a collection of songs that lack substance and borrow heavily from others without adding anything new. For longtime fans, there are some anthems to fill out the setlist. For new listeners, there’s little here that can’t be found playing Springsteen’s “The River” and cranking it to eleven. Here’s hoping for something fresher next time around.