The Beths first pinged my musical radar less than a year ago, via one of the myriad music newsletters that clutter up my inbox on the regular. “New Zealand power-pop quartet fronted by sensitive singer-songwriter”—or whatever the blurb actually said—pushed enough of my musical buttons to pique my curiosity, leading me to pick up the band’s most recent album at the time, 2022’s Expert In A Dying Field. I dug it. A lot.
Cut to a few weeks ago, when The Beths’ fourth full-length Straight Line Was A Lie arrived and proceeded to take over my listening time like only a genuine musical crush can. Rich with insight, tender and quirky, hooky and devastating, Straight Line finds The Beths taking cues from every great power-pop album ever made and pouring them all into a sound that blends the wounded snark of Courtney Barnett with the melodic exuberance of Fountains Of Wayne.
That will be my last attempt at facile comparisons, though; for all the musical knowledge they’ve clearly absorbed, The Beths—Elizabeth Stokes (lead vocals, rhythm guitar, songwriting), Jonathan Pearce (guitar, backing vocals, production), Benjamin Sinclair (bass, backing vocals) and Trsitan Deck (drums)—are absolutely their own unique thing, and this album is a sparkling, warmly unpretentious, passionately performed work of art.
Title track “Straight Line Was A Lie” kicks things off with ringing riffs, rippling melodies, soaring harmonies and infectious drive as Stokes muses about how we struggle to find direction in our lives, circling back around again and again. It’s a journey she chronicles faithfully, one that’s frustrating yet undeniably beautiful. A steady-building climactic jam caps this superb piece of songwriting, arranging and performing.
“Mosquitoes” opens gentle and acoustic with Stokes’ wistful memories of younger days, feeling present in her body and in nature: “I’m only here to feed mosquitos / Only skin, only blood.” As the music builds energy and scope, she tells the story of a torrential flood that tore through a favorite childhood haunt; it’s a song about memory and loss and feeling both older and smaller than she once did. Pearce’s guitar solo makes a statement, but it’s the raw vulnerability Stokes conveys at the mic that leave the biggest impression; her authenticity is her superpower. 
Naturally, after that, track three is a manic, pumping rocker about… depression, rife with sarcasm and sass. Pearce’s guitars ring and sizzle while Sinclair’s manic bass and Deck’s pumping snare and bass drum provide the fibrillating heartbeat of “No Joy.” More typical and equally impressive is the anthemic “Metal,” jangly as they come with another clever, driving rhythm arrangement behind Stokes’ soaring vocal. It also features my favorite verse on the album: “I know I’m a collaboration / Bacteria, carbon and light / Performing an orchestration / Of recipe, fortune and time.”
The group strips things down to the core on “Mother, Pray For Me,” a gentle yet frank and heart-wrenching exploration of Stokes’ difficult relationship with her mother, whom she loves across a yawning chasm of religious devotion versus non-belief. “We never let our colors bleed / I would like to know you and I want you to know me / Do we still have time, can we try?” The lyric is that much more powerful for not leading to any real resolution.
Things grow darker through the course of “Til My Heart Stops,” which opens wistful before developing urgency at the second verse, with the band providing typically strong instrumental support and harmonies behind Stokes. The driving, heavy “Take” carries a similar darkness about it, driven by Sinclair’s constantly pushing bass line, with Pearce delivering an exclamation point of a solo.
Things lighten again with “Roundabout,” all bright guitar and mandolin, backbeat and layered harmonies framing a celebration of a long-lasting friendship. At the bridge a sunburst of electric guitar falls back to a string quartet and reprise as Stokes chants the very essence of love: “Never change / Unless you do / Unless you want to.” In contrast, “Ark Of The Covenant” opens with ominous chords before Deck’s pulsing beat carries the song forward, Stokes’ vocals beguiling even while surrounded with distortion.
Closer “Best Laid Plans” returns to the heart of the matter for The Beths: a big, bouncy bass line behind guitars set to maximum jangle. It manages to be lively, lovely, and later nearly progressive as fuzzed-out bursts of electric guitar play off of rich, echoey harmonies, leading into a dreamy bridge with a spliced-in voiceover, before the guitar comes back strong, driving toward a satisfying climax.
The thing is, all the specific laid down above still don’t come close to describing the listener’s experience when this album comes flooding out of your speakers (or earbuds). There’s a kind of magic in the offsetting balance among Stokes’ powerful yet deeply vulnerable voice and words, Pearce’s punchy, playful, sometimes skronky guitar work, Sinclair’s clever, pumping basslines, Deck’s intense yet precise backbeats, spiced by the entire group’s exuberant harmonies. It's genuine musical alchemy, rendering a result greater than the sum of its parts.
It also argues for The Beths being one of the best-named bands around, in that they are both a vehicle for a superb, distinctive singer-songwriter by the name of Beth, and a sterling performing unit whose innate chemistry and passion for the music they are making propels it to the next level over and over again. Expert In A Dying Field suggested The Beths might be genuine power-pop savants; Straight Line Was A Lie seals the deal.