Washed Out
Life of Leisure
Washed Out’s name perfectly sums up their sound.
Drawing in equal measures from neon-tinged dance music and pale bedroom lo-fi, Life of Leisure, Ernest Greene’s debut EP as Washed Out, flickers between sounding like some fuzzy broadcast from the future and a half-remembered afternoon. It does have a lot in common with recent bands like Neon Indian, Memory Tapes and even MGMT, who have all experimented with a hazy-synthpop style, but Washed Out dabbles more in whimsy.
While all of this may make Life of Leisure seem hopelessly introverted, the songs are for the most part incredibly catchy and accessible. Synth hooks fade in and out of the foreground like puffs of smoke, but Greene’s reassuring vocals keep everything very human-centered. This record could very likely pass for weird ‘80s synthpop if it weren’t for the thick layers of reverb piled on top of everything.
On album standout “You’ll See It,” gaudy synth flutes and electronic blips act as the driving force while the vocals are doused with so much reverb they turn into a smeary chorus. Working out the lyrics is pretty much impossible, but the feeling behind them is transferred with intense clarity.
One thing that sucks: Every song is under the 3-minute 30 second mark. Greene has a real knack for creating musical landscapes that feel like they could roll on forever, but more often than not it feels like the plug gets pulled before the song is actually finished. The third track, “Hold Out,” comes to a rather abrupt halt. But, there are definitely worse problems a band could have than forcing the listener scramble to hit the replay button at the end of a song.
“New Theory” takes some cues from the music found in John Hughes movies and actually manages to increase the feeling of nostalgia those songs create. It’s plaintive and definitely vulnerable, but like everything else here there’s still a very slacker, tossed off feel to it that Greene uses to hide how pretty these songs actually are.
Washed Out is very focused on remembrance, and everything Greene does, from the blurry photographs he uses as album covers to the name he picked out and even the song lengths, makes for some bittersweet music.
— David Sieloff
The Big Pink
A Brief History of Love
With the coveted NME’s Best New Act award in their back pocket and four standout singles released over the past 12 months, it’s fair to say that The Big Pink’s debut album has a lot to live up to.
As “Crystal Visions” starts off the album, it becomes apparent that The Big Pink are working with too much talent for someone to define the band by a single or two. The duo’s ability to create dissonant walls of sound while keeping melodies and individual elements moving forward puts David Sitek’s work with TV on the Radio to shame.
“Dominos” and “Velvet” are aggressive pop songs juxtaposed with such flamboyantundertones that it’s tempting to call The Big Pink the new Pet Shop Boys, but that title would become completely irrelevant a track later. A Brief History of Love certainly has a dud or two, but the constant variety, production and great sequencing helps to elevate the album above the few missteps it makes.
People will have their favorites, but “At War with the Sun” encapsulates what will be many indie fans’ most cherished moments of 2009. It’s the sort of happy-go-lucky pop song that can make anyone’s day a bit brighter, except The Big Pink are broadcasting from a purgatory where ominous forces are turning their handclaps into drum machines and their yells into feedback — thankfully, a gleeful New Order guitar hook cuts through it all.
Coming from an album that spends the majority of its time being loud and fun, “Count Backwards from Ten” is one of the most heartbreaking album finales in a while. As a testament to their skill, the band finds a way to turn a rock ‘n’ roll cliché like “we’re better off dead” into an earnest lyric.
A Brief History is the kind of record that leaves you bewildered on the first listen, transfixed on the second, and addicted by the third. The Big Pink ignore established trends in favor of form new ones, making any tired genre labeling all the more difficult. There is a confidence and personality to The Big Pink that far outranks the mild tributes that many other bands have offered this year. For better or worse, A Brief History shows that The Big Pink have created a sound of their own.
— Allistair Pinsof
Girls
Album
Girls are a band from San Francisco who, despite having one of the least-Googleable names in music, have generated mountains of hype over the past year. From Pitchfork to Rolling Stone, Girls have been praised as this year’s next big thing: The New York Times even proclaimed that their songs are “like templates for others to follow.”
Media hype can be hit-or-miss, but the verdict for Album, Girls’ debut, rings loud and clear: believe the hype.
Girls frontman and songwriter Christopher Owens grew up in over a dozen different countries as a member of the religious cult Children of God, until the age of 16 when he ran away to Amarillo. He hitchhiked his way to New York City, then eventually made his way to the West Coast. There, Owens formed a band called Curls with his girlfriend and became friends with bassist/producer Chet “J.R.” White. When Owens’ girlfriend dumped him and the band, White joined in, and Curls became Girls.
Together they have created the perfect late-summer pop record. On Album, Owens channels Elvis Costello and Buddy Holly, mixes it with lo-fi, surf rock and a bit of androgyny, and creates something wholly of itself. The album is mostly upbeat, but tinged with the subtle remnants of personal conflict and despair. What makes Girls unique, however, is that through the shifts and intricacies of the music, the conflict is ultimately transcended with a bittersweet message of hope.
“Hellhole Ratrace,” a seven- minute epic in the middle of the album, is Album’s stand-out track. It starts with relaxed, hazy guitar chords and slowly progresses into an all-enveloping wall of sound. Lyrically, Owens is disillusioned, but offers a strong plea for hope in the resolution of the chorus. Like many songs on Album, Owens suggests that redemption can be found in human relationships, and it is that alone that makes life worth living.
Last week, seminal lo-fi group Pavement announced a 2010 reunion. While this is exciting news, it also brings to mind the fact that lo-fi indie rock is over 20 years old, and the genre is starting to wear out as dozens of bands grab our attention for a few minutes, only to lose it just as quickly. Album is a refreshing reminder that unique music is still being created.
— John Meller
Monsters of Folk
Monsters of Folk
Supergroups are scary.
On paper, they always look fantastic: a collection of phenomenal artists mixing and matching their styles until it becomes an amalgamation of brilliance, some unknown mash-up that tickles our eardrums and stimulates a struggling music industry. In reality, they’re often pretty underwhelming, and a lot of times they just suck. So, for the avid listener, the best thing to do is hope for something that’s average and unspectacular, but at least entertaining.
Which brings us to Monsters of Folk. Comprised of Jim James of My Morning Jacket, Conor Oberst and Mike Mogis of Bright Eyes, and singer/songwriter M. Ward, the band formed five years ago when the musicians would sit in on each other’s sets. They decided to make an album, and what resulted is pretty much exactly what folks heard during the live concerts.
Despite the fact that James and Ward are two of the best folk-rock artists today (we’ll ignore the basic irrelevance of Oberst and Mogis), they simply don’t mesh well together.
There’s not a song on the group’s self-titled debut that’s bad, but it all sounds entirely too familiar. Depending on who’s singing lead vocals, each track simply plays as a My Morning Jacket, M. Ward track or Bright Eyes track, with some extra guest musicians singing backup.
Songs like “Whole Lotta Losin’” and “Baby Boomer” have the bopping ‘50s throwback feel of most of Ward’s songs, and could have easily fit in on his last release, Hold Time. On the other hand, “Man Named Truth” and “Map of the World” have a darker tone — a minor-chord laden tension you’ve come to expect from Bright Eyes. James’ tracks play out the same way, recalling early My Morning Jacket records, before he decided to take a more Prince-like vocal approach.
All of this combines to make Monsters of Folk an interesting but inconsistent release. The four play well together, and when they do harmonize it’s a pleasant mix of some of folk rock’s past and present key players, but there’s nothing to write home about. This album won’t blow your mind, but it will give you pause as you try to decide whether to keep it labeled Monsters of Folk in your iTunes or split up the album into its respective parts, putting each song with its proper singer.
— Robert Rich
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
Higher Than the Stars
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart’s self-titled debut, perhaps unwillingly, captured the hearts of even the most stoic hipsters. Praised by the harshest of critics, their synth-soaked love ballads recycled the very brightest points of the 1980s (think the euphoria of “Just Like Heaven”) but avoided lumping them with the countless other bands that have joined the synthesizer revival. The New York quartet is not simply resting on their immense success of earlier this year. Higher Than the Stars, their latest EP, boasts four originals that are easily polished enough for a full-length release.
It seems premature to deem a sound “quintessential” after only one album, but this EP proves that The Pains of Being Pure at Heart have established themselves in their sugary pop chops so well that an exception must be made. Higher Than the Stars continues the snappy chronicles of teenage trauma, narrated by Kip Berman’s sleepy voice, so smooth and unassuming that songs about death wishes can sound like the sweetest sentiments.
Title track and single “Higher Than the Stars” epitomizes what the band gives listeners. Recounts of awkward romances could have easily functioned with only the strummed guitar buried at the heart of this song, but here they’re accompanied by dominant, dreamy synth chords and an ambient lead guitar. “Falling Over” continues to draw heavily on the ‘80s inspired screaming synthesizers, but this time a jangly guitar sound is added.
“103” and “Twins” let guitar power chords take the lead, with a loud, fast sound reminiscent of The Ramones, whom the band names as one of their influences. Even with the increased intensity, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart retain their sweetness with the tinny harmonizing vocals of Peggy Wang-East.
Higher Than the Stars is a quick, taunting peek of what’s to come and can only be faulted for its EP, rather than LP, length. If The Pains of Being Pure at Heart is capable of this kind of consistency with short releases, fans can only expect that the best is yet to come with their next full-length album.
— Abby Johnston
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