Father, Son, Holy Ghost

This lyrical simplicity shouldn't obscure the fact that these are sharply constructed songs that take unusual turns. One of Girls' specialities is their willingness to go completely over the top but somehow keep us right there with them.

This latest disc really seems to cement the notion that the collective combination of the songsmiths Owens and White simply cannot do no wrong, that all of that time spent kept away from the pleasures of modern music, at least in one member's case, has simply fostered an entity that is bemused and bedazzled with the charms of the past's reflective prism.

The deadbeat look befits an album that travels from slacker pop to a kind of desolate, beautiful blues in a series of quite astonishing songs. [Oct 2011, p.104]

Because there's an awkward squirm at Girls' core, a deviant devolution of classic mores, and that makes Holy Ghost something of a maladroit masterpiece.

The lyrics are self-consciously ­gloppy, but from the Beach Boys pop of "Honey Bunny" to the textured, churning rocker "Alex" to the soul ballad "Love Like a River," Girls find the right sonic twist to give clichéd romantic self-pity a fresh, forlorn sting.

The simple truth is, you won't find a sadder yet more uplifting album all year.

Altogether, Father, Son, Holy Ghost is a complex record, one that doesn't quite fully realise Girls potential as great recording artists, yet equally suggests that bona fide masterpiece may not be too far around the corner.

The pair has picked up a supporting cast and loads of confidence for Girls' second album, Father, Son, Holy Ghost.

With Father, Son, Holy Ghost's exquisite, beyond-indie melodies, arrangements, and musicianship (the playful "Magic," the elegant "Just a Song," the fiery "Die"), he [Christopher Owens] and bassist-producer JR White flirt with perfection.

This album not only surpasses its predecessor but raises the bar for any band, indie or otherwise, mining the past for inspiration.

Father, Son, Holy Ghost succeeds thoroughly at nearly everything it does, expanding Owens and JR White's palette beyond the scope of the duo's debut without going too far out on a limb.

A quiet, understated triumph.

It's a quietly compelling follow-up to their more adventurous 2009 debut. [23 Sep 2011, p.79]

Girls' have traded their early work's immediacy for something that requires more patience but goes much deeper if you've got the time.

a record that is both this good and a display of a band with so much more to show us does not come along often.

They sound like they'll probably end up being one of the most enduring bands of our era.

FSHG continues this wheelhouse effect, drifting from Smile session bounce on opener "Honey Bunny" into the heavy-psych wind tunnel of "Die" and sprawling anchor "Vomit."

It's lengthy, but the sensitivity of every guitar tickle and percussive touch, as well as main man Christopher Owens' spellbinding voice, means that it is rarely boring.

Album is an astoundingly good record in its own right, but the omni-directional growth showcased on Father, Son, Holy Ghost is nearly overwhelming.

We have Father, Son, Holy Ghost: honest, occasionally crushing, often stunning, and all the better for the fact that Owens seems to be incapable of being anyone but himself.

Remember, Girls are only on their second full-length album and certain missteps should be expected. What we do know is that an album that misses the mark for Girls is far better than the majority of music we come across on a daily basis, and that Father, Son, Holy Ghost is, above all, a fascinating listen.

The album's middle section yields the record's most comprehensive songwriting.

Father, Son, Holy Ghost contains some of the deftest songwriting of 2011, and is more than a worthy successor to the group's debut.

The reason Father, Son, Holy Ghost is so uniquely, imperfectly swell is because the band plainly give fuck-all about convention or stylistic uniformity.