Boston is well known for its music scene, having brought a huge number of influential bands to the world stage over the decades. Home to Berklee College of Music, as well, so it’s no surprise there is a rich seam of artists to mine. One of those artists is Aaron Perrino.
This might not be a name that you know, but you’ll likely know his songs. For several years after forming Dear Leader’s predecessor, The Sheila Divine, he toured the world in support of bands as huge as Primal Scream, No Doubt, and David Bowie. And while I’m not advocating burnout, it’s thanks to his brutal touring schedule that we have The Good Times Are Killing Me.
However, in 2003 when this collection of songs was coming together, that phrase was most associated with Modest Mouse. Which might explain why this album escaped the global success it surely deserves. So, 20 years on, it’s time to shine a light on Dear Leader’s debut, a CD-only release on Boston indie label, Lunch Records. This is the label Aaron has been with since his first recordings, and remains with them today.
Opening track Motto is, for all intents and purposes, the actual maxim of the band. It sets out the stall for the nine songs which follow: the anthemic composition that has become the band’s signature, the introspective lyrics which cast out dark social and political themes. None more so than on the lyrics of Committing Fusion, set against the burbling electronics where the words ‘I don’t believe in fate, or the church and state’ take on a mantra. It calls to mind the best of U2’s songwriting, before they got annoyingly formulaic and self-conscious, or (perhaps more fittingly) the songs of The Postal Service.
It helps that Aaron pulled in John Dragonetti of Jack Drag and The Submarines fame to produce. His touch is evident in the beautiful details in each composition, and provides The Good Times Are Killing Me with the distinctive sound that carries across the entire output of Dear Leader. There’s a twinkle in each song that you uncover on subsequent listens. It also means we get Blake Hazard guesting on Culture Vultures so that even its simple instrumentation feels like it’s painted with a broader palette.
There are still moments that catch the listener out and prevent the album falling into the trap of being a collection of similar sounding songs. This is especially noticeable on the rhythm of If The House Spoke which feels both bouncy and fast and languid and slowed down. It’s effect is to bring a haunted quality to an indie pop song. The middle eight is like the blammo! moment when an LSD trip kicks in, before you’re dropped back into reality as easily as if you’d sat down on the world’s cosiest sofa. For that brief moment when you’re feeling as if you’re hallucinating, the bliss levels are close to overflowing. It’s really quite something.
Why this album has never come out on vinyl is anyone’s guess. Perhaps the era, perhaps a choice. It has the feel of an album that would sound even richer (if that is possible) when listened to on some wax. Only hearing it live would eclipse that experience. 20 years on, perhaps we might get a chance to find out. For now, we it’s available on streaming platforms and YouTube, or you can find it on CD in the usual places.