In February 2024, just shy of the tenth anniversary of Alvvays’ self-titled debut, its second song and single, “Archie, Marry Me,” reached a rarified threshold for our streaming age—one-hundred million listens through a single platform. For the world’s biggest pop stars that’s an average achievement, but for an upstart indie rock band then writing in a backroad farmhouse on a Canadian island, it represented a staggering proof of connection and widespread resonance. Makes sense, after all: “Archie, Marry Me” is a softly stinging, pointedly funny portrait of a common end-of-youth predicament—to wed or not to wed, to involve the state and the possibility of financial ruin when you’re already saddled with student loans and just trying to survive. Instantly relatable, it is an anthem about prescribed social expectations and delighting, however noncommittally, in outcast status.

Now remastered and reissued with deep cut “Underneath Us” to mark a glorious decade of deadpan jangle, Alvvays feels that way from end to end—literally, from the opening stalking-you-with-love anthem “Adult Diversion” to the ennui escapism of sci-fi closer “Red Planet.” In a little more than 30 minutes, Alvvays give us a song about loving someone to actual death (“Next of Kin”), how keeping secrets will destroy what you think you want (“The Agency Group”), and another incisive song about the societal demands of love and marriage (“Atop a Cake”). When Molly Rankin, Alec O’Hanley, Kerri MacLellan, and Brian Murphy cut these songs with Chad VanGaalen in 2013, long before they had a record deal, they were, in fact, young adults trying to figure out these encroaching exigencies for themselves. Again, these problems don’t age; some of us just happen to be lucky enough to age out of them.

Little of this would matter if the songs themselves didn’t stick, if the melodies weren’t as timeless as the topics. But the tension between Alvvays’ shimmer and snap and Rankin’s knowingly droll delivery connects these numbers to a brilliant and deep rock continuum, from the glories of C86 and the triumphs of Athens in the ’80s to Celtic folk’s own magnetic candour. Each of these songs lands several hooks apiece: the sparkling drum-machine drift of “Dives,” the noise-caked sway of “The Agency Group,” and, of course, the half-diffident and half-confident matrimonial plea of “Archie, Marry Me” and that pearly guitar lick. Ten years ago or ten years from now, here are ten songs to slip in your pocket and pull out when the decisions of the world seem to swirl like the very guitars that shape them.

Alvvays never intended to take five years to finish their third album, the nervy joyride that is the compulsively lovable Blue Rev. In fact, the band began writing and cutting its first bits soon after releasing 2017’s Antisocialites, that stunning sophomore record that confirmed the Toronto quintet’s status atop a new generation of winning and whip-smart indie rock.

Global lockdowns notwithstanding, circumstances both ordinary and entirely unpredictable stunted those sessions. Alvvays toured more than expected, a surefire interruption for a band that doesn’t write on the road. A watchful thief then broke into singer Molly Rankin’s apartment and swiped a recorder full of demos, one day before a basement flood nearly ruined all the band’s gear. They subsequently lost a rhythm section and, due to border closures, couldn’t rehearse for months with their masterful new one, drummer Sheridan Riley and bassist Abbey Blackwell.

At least the five-year wait was worthwhile: Blue Rev doesn’t simply reassert what’s always been great about Alvvays but instead reimagines it. They have, in part and sum, never been better. There are 14 songs on Blue Rev, making it not only the longest Alvvays album but also the most harmonically rich and lyrically provocative.

There are newly aggressive moments here—the gleeful and snarling guitar solo at the heart of opener “Pharmacist,” or the explosive cacophony near the middle of “Many Mirrors.” And there are some purely beautiful spans, too—the church- organ fantasia of “Fourth Figure,” or the blue-skies bridge of “Belinda Says.” But the power and magic of Blue Rev stems from Alvvays’ ability to bridge ostensible binaries, to fuse elements that seem antithetical in single songs—cynicism and empathy, anger and play, clatter and melody, the soft and the steely. The luminous poser kiss-off of “Velveteen,” the lovelorn confusion of “Tile by Tile,” the panicked but somehow reassuring rush of “After the Earthquake”.

The songs of Blue Rev thrive on immediacy and intricacy, so good on first listen that the subsequent spins where you hear all the details are an inevitability.

This perfectly dovetailed sound stems from an unorthodox—and, for Alvvays, wholly surprising—recording process, unlike anything they’ve ever done. Alvvays are fans of fastidious demos, making maps of new tunes so complete they might as well have topographical contour lines.

But in October 2021, when they arrived at a Los Angeles studio with fellow Canadian Shawn Everett, he urged them to forget the careful planning they’d done and just play the stuff, straight to tape. On the second day, they ripped through Blue Rev front-to-back twice, pausing only 15 seconds between songs and only 30 minutes between full album takes. And then, as Everett has done on recent albums by The War on Drugs and Kacey Musgraves, he spent an obsessive amount of time alongside Alvvays filling in the cracks, roughing up the surfaces, and mixing the results. This hybridized approach allowed the band to harness each song’s absolute core, then grace it with texture and depth. Notice the way, for instance, that “Tom Verlaine” bursts into a jittery jangle; then marvel at the drums and drum machines ricocheting off one another, the harmonies that crisscross, and the stacks of guitar that rise between riff and hiss, subtle but essential layers that reveal themselves in time.

Every element of Alvvays leveled up in the long interim between albums: Riley is a classic dynamo of a drummer, with the power of a rock deity and the finesse of a jazz pedigree. Their roommate, in-demand bassist Blackwell, finds the center of a song and entrenches it. Keyboardist Kerri MacLellan joined Rankin and guitarist Alec O’Hanley to write more this time, reinforcing the band’s collective quest to break patterns heard on their first two albums.

The results are beyond question: Blue Rev has more twists and surprises than Alvvays’ cumulative past, and the band seems to revel in these taken chances. This record is fun and often funny, from the hilarious reply-guy bash of “Very Online Guy” to the parodic grind of “Pomeranian Spinster.”

Alvvays’ self-titled debut, released when much of the band was still in its early 20s, offered speculation about a distant future—marriage, professionalism, interplanetary citizenship. Antisocialites wrestled with the woes of the now, especially the anxieties of inching toward adulthood. Named for the sugary alcoholic beverage Rankin and MacLellan used to drink as teens on rural Cape Breton, Blue Rev looks both back at that country past and forward at an uncertain world, reckoning with what we lose whenever we make a choice about what we want to become.

The spinster with her Pomeranians or Belinda with her babies? The kid fleeing Bristol by train or the loyalist stunned to see old friends return? “How do I gauge whether this is stasis or change?” Rankin sings during the first verse of the plangent and infectious “Easy on Your Own?” In that moment, she pulls the ties tight between past, present, and future to ask hard questions about who we’re going to become, and how. Sure, it arrives a few years later than expected, but the answer for Alvvays is actually simple: They’ve changed gradually, growing on Blue Rev into one of their generation’s most complete and riveting rock bands.

STAFF COMMENTS

Liam says: Isn't it good to have Alvvays back ey? Fourteen tracks of dreamy shoegaze-infused jangle-pop goodness, Alvvays' 'Blue Rev' further cements the Canadian outfit as modern indie darlings and deservedly so!

TRACK LISTING

1 Pharmacist (2:04)
2 Easy On Your Own? (2:55)
3 After The Earthquake (3:05)
4 Tom Verlaine (3:26)
5 Pressed (2:10)
6 Many Mirrors (2:59)
7 Very Online Guy (2:22)
8 Velveteen (3:10)
9 Tile By Tile (2:58)
10 Pomeranian Spinster (3:25)
11 Belinda Says (2:45)
12 Bored In Bristol (3:00)
13 Lottery Noises (3:18)
14 Fourth Figure (1:20)

The second album from Alvvays, Antisocialites, is set for release on Transgressive Records. Across ten tracks and thirty-three minutes, the Toronto-based group dive back into the deep end of reckless romance and altered dates.

To write Antisocialites, Rankin traveled to Toronto Island, working in an abandoned schoolroom by day and sleeping a few feet from shore at night. “I carried a small PA on the ferry in a wheelbarrow,” she recalls. “Every morning I would listen to my favourite records on the beach, then I'd write melodies and record demos in the classroom.”

TRACK LISTING

1 In Undertow
2 Dreams Tonite
3 Plimsoll Punks
4 Your Type
5 Not My Baby
6 Hey
7 Lollipop (Ode To Jim)
8 Already Gone
9 Saved By A Waif
10 Forget About Life

Comprised of Molly Rankin (lead vocals / guitar), Kerri Maclellan (keys / vocals), Alec O’Hanley (guitar), Brian Murphy (bass) and Phil MacIsaac (drums), Alvvays take the template laid out by the likes of Scottish stalwarts Teenage Fanclub, The Vaselines and Belle & Sebastian and fuse it with a strong sense of self and a unique personality.

Each shimmering track on their debut full-length frames Rankin’s melancholic melodies and unwavering voice with meticulous arrangements and needlepoint guitars.

STAFF COMMENTS

Andy says: Massive, jangle-pop heaven. Big songs, cool guitars. Love it!