The road beckons Japandroids. In song and on stage, there's always another bar, another girl or another gig to get to. They're a screaming-into-the-void rebuke to the mantra "be here now."
But no more! Fate & Alcohol is billed as the Vancouver duo's final record, an album these notorious road dogs aren't even going to tour behind. And while that's certainly a shame for fans of Brian King and David Prowse's stadium-sized indie anthems, it also shouldn't be a surprise. Now in their 40s, with King newly sober and a father-to-be, the lives of Japandroids' members couldn't be further from the image they created for themselves across three albums and numerous singles.
That's not to say that they're leaning into it though — we're not in dad rock territory, yet. Musically, this is a record about getting down to brass tacks. The sonic experimentation of Near to the Wild Heart of Life is mostly gone and they've reclaimed a bit of the sense of the wild abandon. This is an album built on the things that Japandroids excel at: big distorted open chords, thundering drums and fist-pumping gang-vocal choruses.
Since they first found success, King has repeatedly said that, to him, songwriting is a means to an end rather than a craft to be honed. Still, you're bound to get better at anything if you do it long enough. Where Japandroids songs were once repeated mantras, King's become increasingly verbose. His lyrics remain mostly free of poetic devices, but there's an increasing willingness to dive into the details of the stories he's telling, creating a richer world to play in.
These 10 songs (that's two more than on the three previous Japandroids records for those keeping track) were reportedly written between 2017 and 2020, which means that many of the changes in King's life aren't explicitly captured here. But reading between the lines — or maybe with the benefit of hindsight — you can see change on the horizon. The wanderlust is gone, home is the new destination and there's a newfound concern about the future consequences of today's actions.
King sums up this headspace best on "Upon Sober Reflection": "Had enough of the unknown and I'm making that known today / I'll repeat every one of my words / So no mistaking what I say." Even "A Gaslight Anthem," Prowse's sole songwriting and vocal credit on the record, puts a situationship under the microscope, asking if there's something more
Celebration Rock set a highbar that Japandroids — or really any other artist trading in punk-infused guitar anthems — have been unable or unwilling to surpass. That remains true here; the songs don't hit quite as hard or as immediately as that high watermark. But there's also nothing to suggest that Japandroids couldn't have carried on, dropping albums when they had material, touring when it suited their schedules. Far lesser bands have gone on longer with far less conviction. But in putting a period on their career, King and Prowse are opting to (gently) burn out, rather than fade away. It's cliched, but it's also a fitting end for a band who bookended their most celebrated record with the sound of fireworks.
Whether this is indeed permanent, or simply a pause before the spark gets relit by some anniversary or dwindling bank account, Fate & Alcohol is a fitting end to one of Canada's most inspiring and singular bands from the past 15 years.