Smoking Popes

Destination Failure (Capitol)
by Austin Nash

Every piece of literature I’ve picked up has dealt the Smoking Popes a blow, pardon the pun, by comparing them to Morrissey. I find this neither disgusting nor a blessing. I find it rather true, but noticeable only in select places. I hear a long gone band no one ever heard of because they never made an album, giving evidence to the ridiculousness of these mundane comparisons.

The new album from the Smoking Popes, Destination Failure, is a melodic and sweet portrait painted for all the women and the blind suckers who love them with blood from a too-far-gone severed artery. Though sporting plenty of guitar-driven songs, they’re mostly a vocal band, with the lyrics being both simple and endearing as well as introspective and clear. I quote from “Star Struck One,” “My heart tapped me on my shoulder and whispered in my ear/don’t be a pussy all your life.” I can appreciate that image. The album is blearily grandiose and in places reaches an almost Elvis Costello pub-like sucker singalong song (see anything off of Elvis’ All That Useless Beauty album).
(150 Fifth Avenue, 9th Fl. New York, NY 10011)