The Hard Quartet – The Hard Quartet

Formed in secret and largely recorded within a week, The Hard Quartet and their eponymous debut enters the rarefied sphere of supergroups. Its players need no introduction but it’s worth a recap of where the four corners of this square come from. This is Jim White’s 7th record of 2024. Emmet Kelly has released 10 albums as The Cairo Gang, whilst also collaborating with Bonnie “Prince” BIlly. Matt Sweeny has also worked with Will Oldham, most recently on their second Superwolves LP – released last year, and added guitars to Stephen Malkmus’s last solo LP Traditional Techniques. Malkmus joins the Hard Quartet after 2 years of touring with a reunited Pavement. Although the best known of the 4 – and the one to take the majority of lead vocals – an early GQ interview clarified this is a group with equal stakes, not a solo project with an esteemed supporting cast.

Further into that GQ piece the band ascertained that the goal was to produce something “distinct from any industry trends”, and true to form the record does play like a time capsule. There’s an analog warmth to proceedings that recalls a Flying Nun deepcut, whilst the way the 16 tracks hop between songwriters recalls a mid-90s’ Guided By Voices offering. Indeed Emmet Kelly’s anglicised pop-rock neatly channels Robert Pollard. His ‘Our Hometown Boy’ is a classy British Invasion reboot that high-kicks and windmills with a sprightly elan.

Sweeney’s offerings are less markedly stylised, instead his mid-pacers congenitally twang along. ‘Jacked On Existence’ plays like a countrified cut from The Velvet Underground, its after-hours grace gently propelled by Jim White’s percussive minimalism. Fans of Malkmus’s post-Pavement oeuvre will be familiar with the tone of his offerings. There are 70s’ rock guitar tones beefing up topsy-turvy time signatures [‘Action For Military Boys’], there are reflective moments with softened exhaling vocals [‘Hey’] and there’s the punked up ‘Renegade’ which should come with a tissue due to its overt snottiness. On point too is Malkmus’s evergreen way with words. Some are phrases that hit for their non sequitur skew whereas others place phrases next to each other impressionistically; their unusual combinations arresting like the placing of complementary shades on a colour wheel. The imagery of “I was so mezzanined” is as glorious as the ricocheting of hard c’s in “The archetype of the narc is eternal”.

As a long player the distinct songwriters rub along nicely. Aided by the consistent production and by the peerless stickmanship of Jim White. Hearing White play in a band that name-checked Slade as a reference is a real treat: this is the closest he’s drifted to straight-up rock in a career that began in the 80s’. Indeed the White/Malkmus interplay stands as the record’s most interesting point. Perhaps it’s because the two are the most intrinsically expressive players, or maybe it’s because – unlike the others – they’ve never worked together. Either way the pair shine on album highlight ‘Six Deaf Rats’. An inquisitive, see-sawing guitar line prods forwards before cresting into the ebb and flow or White’s loose timekeeping. “I was a galleon for your raging love/ Sail eternity, true,” sings Malkmus. As the other members join in the Hard Quartet pick up a loose poignancy.

With its 50 minute runtime there’s some fat that could have been cut: ‘North of the Border’ and ‘Heel Highway’ in particular feel superfluous. For the most part though The Hard Quartet effortlessly assume the role of an elder statesmen supergroup.