Marriage seems to have made Blake Hazard and John Dragonetti much, much happier. Not only has it likely done wonders for their personal life; we listeners are reaping the benefits of their sweet indie pop progeny. Think of Honeysuckle Weeks as the first Dragonetti child, and a prodigy at that.
The husband and wife duo that comprise The Submarines have shaken off the melancholia that pervaded their first (and pre-marriage) album Declare a New State, to record a bouncy, sunny, sweeter than a sugar sandwich album. It’s a good look for them, and cynics ought not to dismiss the stylistic about-face as a turn toward cloying sentiment. Sure, Honeysuckle Weeks can be goofy, but it’s a cute goofy – like the big, silly smile permanently plastered on the young and in love.
Conventional wisdom says that the best art comes out of suffering, but The Submarines offer a pretty convincing counter-example with their latest. Their first album of breakup songs hit all of the requisite indie pop notes, and Hazard and Dragonetti’s harmonies could still be heartbreaking against that glib backdrop, but these two clearly aren’t the weeping type – the carefree joy on Honeysuckle Weeks fits them so much better.
Hazard’s vocals are much more prominent here – the harmonies are gone for the most part, but Dragonetti still lends vocals to more than half the songs. The sunnier approach hasn’t altered The Submarines sonically though. Their feet remain firmly planted in indie pop territory – plenty of electronic touches and quirky arrangements.
Honeysuckle Weeks is a brilliant little album. It breezes past at just over 30 minutes, but these are some pretty substantial three-minute pop songs. Well-crafted, with a strong theme unifying the whole disc, it’s hard not to fall in love with The Submarines.
“I had a ring of thorns round my heart / but you made your way in / yes, you broke it apart / I cried love, love / and the skies opened up,” Hazard sings on “The Thorny Thicket.”
“Every day we wake up / we choose love / we choose life,” she sings on “You, Me and the Bourgeoisie.”
“All we ever want / is to be loved / whether sun or stars above / all our trouble / all our toil / is toward no greater earthly goal / so never mind what logic says / I say logic’s a guy who ought to empty his pockets,” she croons on “Swimming Pool.”
The Submarines are in love. It would be a shame not to join them.
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