Why does so much music (in general) rely on the concept that it has to make some sort of statement through its lyrics?

In the past few years, art and noise rock have become more accepted because there’s a large market for people who understand that the sound of music is equally important as the message – if not more. Melody can provoke the darkest corners of your mind because, while lyrics inspire you to hear their words, the music is truly what conjures up your emotions. San Francisco art and noise rock outfit Weekend understands that. Their debut, Sports, is an exceptionally fantastic take on this concept of music and judging from the imagery and personal emotion here, it’s merely a matter of time until they soundtrack some sort of brash, avant-garde film (preferably made by Larry Clark or Gus Van Sant).

“Coma Summer” kicks off the album, and, indeed, it gives the sensation that summer is upon us (even though it’s fall). The pounding drums cue up in a very post-punk, Joy Division style, but the harsh guitar and vocal melodies come in about 30 seconds later, letting you know this band has a distinguished style from here on out. The vocals never truly become audible, but they carry this feeling of innocence, youth, and nostalgia, all in a tight package that can be interpreted in a variety of ways. Though, with a title like “Coma Summer”, you can’t imagine the lyrics are the most pleasant, but the song just feels so…darkly upbeat.

“Youth Haunts” floats by next and right off the bat it’s much, much darker than the opener. The vocals drip of sorrow, working well with the monotone drums, stinging feedback, and thumbing bass line. Then there’s “Monday Morning”, a song that literally sounds like Monday morning: the dreary feelings of being back at work, the frustration of wanting everything to just be over for the day. The lyrics never get above a moan, but it sounds like the singer is saying, “I want to go home,” a lyric that perfectly suits the dreary music.

“Landscape” works with the most punk-sounding guitar on the album. The chords shriek out of the speakers as the vocals moan angrily. However, the song never reaches the full boiling point, in large part because no drums ever come in. It’s just harsh guitars and undertone vocals, a sound not commonly heard so plainly. Next is “Age Class”, a track reminiscent of Dirty-era Sonic Youth. The drum beat remains in check, with a few rolls here and there, but once the vocals kick in, it becomes a straight up punk track. It also contains the most decipherable lyrics on the album, with the constant chant of “There’s something in our blood!”

Not surprisingly, “Veil” is another dark and mysterious track, which constantly builds to a conclusion by adding more feedback and kicking the drumbeat up every moment. After that is “End Times”, a number with the catchiest bass hook on the whole record, also containing slightly decipherable lyrics. This song is much more driven, rewarding, and by far the most conventional track on the entire album. Eventually, the song fades into the creepy and foreboding “Afterimage”, a two-minute segway track that chills the listener’s blood. It leads right into the finale, “Untitled”, a six-minute drum-rolling, forward moving punk track. The song then turns into a more conventional and slightly decipherable number for the second half, but finishes off with the banging of a singular chord, vocal note, and drum hit, only to fade out into one final, haunting bass line.

Sports definitely brings you deep within the catacombs of your subconscious, and you might not necessarily like what you find. Regardless, it’s a wild ride. Weekend’s brand of noise rock may not be for the faint of heart, or the closed-minded music listener, but those of you who can appreciate a sound unfamiliar, bizarre, artful, and slightly fresh will come to appreciate Sports. (The jury’s still out on whether or not this is a Huey Lewis homage). The sound may feel erratic, but this band’s incredibly focused. Here’s to next year’s festival season, where they’ll no doubt scare up some more hype.