The Howl & The Hum – Same Mistake Twice

Indie Rock | Indie Folk

70%

 

If you’re familiar with my album reviews then you’ll know that this is the part where I start off on some tangent. My train of thought often behaves more like a Roomba bouncing around the room, so it’s likely a tangent that makes sense to no one but myself, but in my mind at least it connects in some way with the themes of the album, the story of its creation, or with how it makes me feel. I always need an angle of approach. Simply rattling off my thoughts track by track without context feels as dull to write as it likely would be to read. The more reviews I write, the more tangential those angles tend to be in an effort to have something new to say. 

It occurs to me now that this is probably why I connect so much with The Howl & The Hum, and why they’ve been one of my favourite discoveries in the last few years. I love their tangential approach to songwriting, the ability to draw inspiration from the most random and unassuming of places and twist it into something that feels relatable. Their songwriting is at its best when they’re viewing the world through some unique perspective. Who else would turn a story about the dismantling of a bridge into a heartbreak anthem, or find wide-eyed reflection on the reality of growing older in someone speeding past their tour van. The unconventional angles of approach felt like the most important of the three pillars which define the band’s sound for me, the others being the tattoo worthy lyrics that see-saw between dry wit and devastating home truths, and the way the music snakes and shifts between styles in order to find a vibe that fits the theme of the song. 

Same Mistake Twice is the long awaited follow up to The Howl & Hum’s 2020 debut, the ill-fatedly titled Human Contact. However, it sees the Howl & Hum moniker now being shouldered by singer/songwriter Sam Griffiths as a solo project following the break-up of the band. In reckoning with the regrets and anxieties of that break-up, and the daunting notion of starting anew, Griffiths manages to draw out some measure of all the essential Howl & Hum hallmarks that I’ve come to know and love. ‘No Calories in Cocaine’, an exaggerated exploration of the little white lies we tell ourselves to excuse our toxic coping mechanisms, is just the kind off-kilter angle of approach that I’ve been craving. The same can be said of ‘Dirt’, which feels like the spiritual successor to the brilliant ‘Hostages‘. While the latter compared returning each other’s possessions after a break-up to a hostage exchange, ‘Dirt’ imagines the mundanely intimate knowledge we retain about someone when parting ways as mutually assured blackmail. 

The musical fluidity is still here too. We hear it in how easily the record shifts between the country twang of ‘All Your Friends Hate Me’ and the contrasting light and shadow of ‘No One Has To Know’ with its bright piano and dark brooding riffs. The moody electronica of ‘The Wheel’ captures the feeling of life on autopilot, while the intricate fingerpicking on ‘Echo’ has a wistfulness to it that reminds me a little of American Football. ‘Echo’ is also home to that signature lyricism that tugs at a part of your soul, thanks to lines like “I’m not afraid to die I’m afraid of the terms and conditions, maybe the reason that you never call is because you think I’ll never listen“. It’s in strong contention as my favourite line of the record, neck and neck with “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t be someone else every day of my life, I don’t need someone to tell me I’m perfect just someone to notice I’m trying” on ‘Pale Blue Dot’. 

Yet while all the important facets of The Howl & The Hum are present in the record as a whole, rarely do they overlap in individual songs. At best you will pick two from having an interesting angle, compelling lyrics and an engaging arrangement, and hope it’s enough to make up for the absence of the third. At its worst you have filler tracks like ‘I Loved A Boy’ and ‘Back In Time’ which maybe make do with one at a push. The only place where everything unequivocally comes together is on the incredible title track. The idea of arriving at the pearly gates at the end, being send back for another go round, only to kick up the same mess as you did before. The constant barrage of one liners full of self-deprecating wit and evocative introspection. That magnificent, triumphant, uplifting Springsteen-esque arrangement, complete with thunderous drums and soaring sax. Griffiths absolutely nailed it with ‘Same Mistake Twice’, yet the rest of the album lives in the shadow of this perfect paragon and never again reaches those same heights. 

I feel like one of the themes of this record is that recognising our mistakes at least counts for something, even if it’s in our nature to be doomed to repeat them all the same. There have been a number of albums that my views have shifted on in the years since I first wrote about them. Usually I grow to appreciate them for what they are, rather than lament them for not being what I wanted them to be. I’ll admit that I can see myself doing the same thing with Same Mistake Twice, but until that day I’ll continue to feel like all the right ingredients are here, just the proportions are a little out.