Ambien and Mazzy Star should not have much in common. Yet, the two are regrettably frankensteined together and act as a bizarre fountain of inspiration on California duo, Best Coast’s third semi-release, a seven-track mini-album entitled “Fade Away.” Upon digestion of the 27 minutes of the pair’s highly commercialized pop-fuzz, it seems singer and lyricist Bethany Cosentino should have upped her sleep-inducing dosage, as most of the tracks come off as packaged, surface-level dross.

At its best, the record can be categorized as a compilation of middle school post-breakup anthems, best enjoyed in the waning throes of angsty pseudo-love.
For Best Coast die-hards and those that have clung onto each word of Cosentino’s unadorned diary entries on 2010’s “Crazy For You” and 2012’s “The Only Place,” buckle up for another ride into the mind of a broken-hearted 13-year-old soul. For those craving something a bit more substance-driven and perceptive this Fall, consider pumping the brakes before splurging for a project that the group was head-scratchingly so eager to release. They could not even take the time to fully complete it, instead spinning themselves into a bizarre, seven song purgatory lost somewhere between EP and full-length.

Stereotypical Cosentino themes of unrequited love and heartbreak are heavily peppered into the tunes, all backed by undistinguished, slightly-distorted guitars compliments of multi-instrumentalist Bobb Bruno. The twosome have made “back to basics” rock their staple, something that has worked to a delightful end on their first two campaigns. However, the stripped-down approach and aggressive strive for accessibility becomes a bit played out and almost too accessible this time around; five of the seven tracks sound like they came out the first few chapters of “Rock Guitar for Dummies.”

With such little to hide behind, the lack of depth becomes painfully evident, with “Who Have I Become” acting as the exemplar to that point—essentially sounding like it came from a deleted montage from the Lizzie McGuire movie or another equally hollow early 2000s Disney atrocity. Behind a standardized radio-rock beat and cutely fuzzed-out guitar, Cosentino opens with, “sometimes I hate myself for loving you,” which is relatable enough, but after two entire albums of the same narcissistic self-loathing, we are begging her to finally attempt some more flavorful themes and graduate the eighth grade.

That being said, the semi-record is certainly a series of building blocks. The first half comes across as relatively lifeless, while the final three tunes get back to some much-desired, vintage Cosentino/Bruno ballads. If listeners can make it there, the miniature set of noises comes to a somewhat encouraging conclusion with the bubbly “I Don’t Know How,” which transfers from prom-ready for the first minute-and-a-half to a Liz Phair-inspired pop-rock ballad for the remaining 90 seconds.

Also showing promising glimpses of creativity, the title track as well as “Baby I M Crying” provide listeners with a depressingly quick snapshot of the reverb-smothered tonality of their debut. Although, with Cosentino moaning about her latest mascara-soaked cry-a-thon, both numbers fall in line with the whiny, if not overly self-involved, themes of the album as a whole.
The undertaking in its entirety does provide a solid stepping-stone, acting as the missing link between their debut and “The Only Place,” although arriving just two years too late. After making such a mature jump from their freshman to sophomore release, a similarly impressive raise of the bar was expected again, not two steps backward to even more base, practically bubblegum grime-pop.
All in all, the record is what can now always be expected of a Best Coast album through and through: simple arrangements, vaguely catchy beats and wallowing, he loves me, he loves me not lyrics. It is wrong to hate them for staying true to the poppy brand they have created, though the hope of them living up to their full, unbridled potential is, like the warm weather of summer, quickly fading into a hazy sunset of what could have been.