Tooth and Nail 2002
Some might say that Fine China's sentimental pop aesthetic deters from what would be deemed "masculine." However, if there were one thing that should be said about Fine China, it would be this: They kick some serious ass. Yes, the ass-kicking by this Phoenix foursome is swift, clever, and directly aimed at your posterior, to make it known that while they have steered clear of the mollycoddle Top 40 crap that gets played on the radio, they have the means to take that very same Milquetoast and shove it down our throats. Of course, if you are reading this magazine right now, you're probably already among the more discerning music listeners who has already long renounced the garbage that lingers in the malls, car stereos and MTV play lists like a festering fungus.
Perhaps their synthpop Euro-manifesto on the 2000 release "When the World Sings" was a bit more delicate around the edges, but this time around Fine China provides just enough nostalgic 80s Britrock rock vibe to warrant and keep your attention. Rob Withem's stellar song writing is what N'sync would have to crawl over shards of glass to attain, and even then, with their chunks of bleeding skin hanging from their legs and hands, they'd still be nowhere near the earnest and melancholy beauty of one single Fine China song. Jason Martin's production lends a touch of So-Cal to the project, among the Marr-ish guitar work, punctuated drum and bass lines, all surrounded by carefully placed keyboards and organs. Withem's wistful vocals and quirky lyrics tie it all together like a velvet ribbon. "You Were a Saint" - among the loveliest pop-tunes as of late - glows like a gilded crown, while the blistering rocker "Don't Say Nothing" is a head-spinning contrast to the Fine China we met in 2000, and would make The Strokes run away in fear. The palpable sentiment in "Forget the Experts" and "Hug Every Friend" also prove that Withem is not a man whose song writing skill should be questioned.
While their influences (Hynde, Marr, Smith, and Sumner) cannot be denied, they are so sublimely appropriated that it becomes less of a question as to what bands they sound like, and more of a question of "If I put this album on constant repeat beginning at 9 a.m., how many rotations can I fit into one day?"
- l. jeanette strole