The trio behind School of Seven Bells’s lush indie-pop takes their creative process incredibly seriously. The band often discusses their eclectic influences—from David Lynch films to their singer’s lucid dreaming episodes—and emphasizes the deliberate and taxing character of their songwriting. They’re artists’ artists, to be sure, but that doesn’t mean they’ve transcended the sounds of the post-millennial indie-rock scene and its forbears.
If Disconnect from Desire is any indicator, then the sonic equivalent of a David Lynch film or a lucid dream sounds, well, more or less like Stereolab. Characteristic of the band’s approach is the noisy pop number “Heart Is Strange,” which comes with lots of repetitive digital clicks and beeps, quirky vocal melodies, and a ubiquitous veneer of guitar fuzz. And it’s not that the band sounds exactly like Stereolab, or like anyone else, but listening to Disconnect from Desire feels like shuffling through a ‘90s alt-rock playlist. Benjamin Curtis, formerly of the Secret Machines, opts for a reverb-laden guitar style which is most clearly indebted to the great shoegaze albums of that decade, most notably My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless and the Cocteau Twins’s Heaven or Las Vegas. With regard to the latter, the singing Deheza sisters, Alejandra and Claudia, even sound a bit like Elisabeth Fraser (also, they are actual twins).
It’s not all throwback dream pop, though, since the band maintains some of the interest in choral singing and tribal percussion that characterized their debut. But whereas those elements gave Alpinisms a coolly cosmopolitan appeal, they feel more like embellishments than genuine sources of inspiration here. Standout cuts like “Babelonia” and “Dial” resemble M83’s fusions of synth pop and shoegaze more than their ostensibly exotic touchstones, and even the more successful experiments in polyglot pastiche could fit comfortably on a Bat for Lashes album—which is to say, artful but still easily decipherable in terms of recent indie-rock trends.
The point here isn’t to kneecap the band for a lack of originality, simply to observe the disconnect between the self-conscious auteurism with which they approach their sound and the ultimately familiar results. Clearly, a lot of thought went into making this album the trippy and meticulously orchestrated listen that it is, but the payoff in terms of a distinctive sonic identity is pretty minimal. Part of the blame for that should go to the vocalists: The Deheza sisters sing impressive and complex harmonies, but they don’t inject them with an abundance of personality. On tracks like “I L U,” where over-production is already a danger, their heavily processed vocals are a little too easy to lose in the hypnotic swirl of sounds.
Which, again, is odd given the way that School of Seven Bells’s talks about their work. Around the time that their first album was released, the band told NPR that their vocals typically precede their musical arrangements, with the latter serving to enhance and convey the song’s lyrical content. That’s a sentiment that’s hard to take seriously as one works through the album though. Competition from bells, synths, guitars, drum machines, and all manner of chiming, clattering things both artificial and synthetic often renders the lyrics indecipherable, and in the places where they can be plainly understood, they’re not overwhelmingly insightful. On “Dust Devil,” the sisters declare: “I’m not afraid/I know it’s what you do/I know more then you think I do”; on the dissonant, disco-inspired “Camarailla,” they run through nonsensical rhymes: “This faint imposition’s a loaded decision/Hiding in its vision/A treacherous seas.”
But even if one looks past the awkward poetry, Disconnect from Desire still feels like a missed opportunity, insofar as it’s nearly impossible to grant the material here the type of close attention for which the band has clearly intended it. The songs are so overstuffed with sounds and digressions that one simply can’t take it all in: The best option is to let the group’s appealing wall of sound wash over you, appreciating it for its mesmeric vibe rather than for it’s orchestral intricacy. It’s not an unpleasant experience by any means—just quite a lot duller and less intimate than what the band probably had in mind.
Label: Vagrant Release Date: July 13, 2010 Buy: Amazon
Review: Guster’s Look Alive Is the Sound of a Band Rejuvenated
Guster’s eighth album buzzes with inventiveness, charm, and youthful dynamism.3.5
Guster has long been associated with “college rock,” and not without reason. Even though every member of the Boston-based band is now over 40, they still make bright, hyper-polished alt-pop tailor-made for campus radio. The band’s eighth album, Look Alive, adds synths and contemporary production flourishes to their sonic repertoire, but all the hallmarks of their sound remain: winsome melodies, soaring hooks, and tight, immaculate songcraft that combines the best of Britpop, 1960s folk, and post-grunge.
Like most Guster albums, Look Alive has a few duds, a few modest successes, and at least one showstopper—a song that makes you wonder why the band was never more successful. On 2006’s Ganging Up on the Sun, that song was “Satellite,” a shimmering power-pop masterpiece that split the difference between the Shins and Neutral Milk Hotel. Here, it’s “Hard Times,” which also happens to be the least Guster-like track on the album. Drenched in Auto-Tune, buzzing synth frequencies, and stadium-ready percussion, the song doesn’t sound anything like “Satellite,” let alone like the band’s output before 2000. Yet, true to form, it’s a remarkable piece of pop. “Sinister systems keep us satisfied/These are hard times,” Ryan Miller wails. It’s a simple statement, but it makes for a stunning chorus, and Miller’s effusive delivery renders it the most cathartic moment on the album.
On “Not for Nothing,” the band ventures into dream-rock territory, surrounding themselves with icy synth textures that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Wild Nothing track, while “Hello Mister Sun” is unabashed bubblegum pop that pays homage to whimsical Paul McCartney tracks like “Penny Lane” and “Good Day Sunshine.” Likewise, the sprightly “Overexcited” bounces along with a spoken-word verse and pounding, piano-centric chorus. While none of these tracks tackle complex themes, they’re playful, infectious, and eminently listenable.
Many of Guster’s best-known songs delve into same subject matter: newfound love, crippling heartache, the pain of being young, restless, and alone. Yet much of Look Alive is more elliptical. “Maybe we’re all criminals and this is just the scene of a crime,” Miller sings ambiguously on “Terrified,” forcing the listener to fill in the blanks. “Summertime” similarly defies easy explanation: Brimming with obscure religious imagery, whispered background vocals, and references to an unspecified war, it follows no logical narrative, instead allowing the track’s mood—a feeling of triumph over some great adversity—to tell the story.
For better and worse, Look Alive’s production mimics the spacious, ‘80s-inspired aesthetic that pervades much of contemporary indie-rock. “Don’t Go” transplants a prototypical Guster melody into a synth-soaked songscape, while the title track seems expressly engineered for Spotify’s Left of Center playlist. Still, the album never feels like the work of aging musicians struggling to stay relevant; it buzzes with inventiveness, charm, and youthful dynamism.
Label: Nettwerk Release Date: January 18, 2019 Buy: Amazon
Review: Toro y Moi’s Outer Peace Bends Boundaries with Mixed Results
Chaz Bear’s sixth album as Toro y Moi bends the boundaries of club music, albeit with mixed results.3.0
Having already concocted brainy dance music under the alter ego Les Sins, chillwave trailblazer, synth-pop alchemist, and psychedelic rock enthusiast Chaz Bear fully embraces the dance floor on Outer Peace, his sixth studio album as Toro y Moi. Pulling from sources as disparate as R&B, tropical house, and trap, the California-based singer bends the boundaries of club music, albeit with mixed results.
Upon first listen, it seems like Outer Peace colors a rough sketch of a dystopian future where the material is mistaken for the immaterial, technology becomes a gateway to the metaphysical, and fleeting pleasures, prompting ever greater hedonistic pursuits. It doesn’t take long to realize, though, that this dystopia isn’t some future prospect, but the present moment. With lines like “Mystic staring at his phone for oneness,” Bear masterfully defamiliarizes our world, exposing the absurdity of the digital age.
Bear charmingly pairs this oft-heavy subject matter with club-ready grooves. The existential crisis of “Who Am I” is juxtaposed with sweetly pitched-up vocals and a fizzy patchwork of synths. Bear’s playful approach to house music ensures that no amount of existential dread and doom can dampen the mood he creates throughout the album.
Bear’s tinkering, however, isn’t always transportive. The rather vanilla tropical house beat of “Baby Drive It Down” recalls Drake’s dancehall-lite, with a lifeless performance from Bear. His experimentation with trap is at first promising on “Monte Carlo,” with the support of a dreamy pillow of vocal samples, but coming in at two minutes, the track feels one note, lacking any tempo changes or even a bridge, suggesting it was perhaps better fit for an interlude.
The cover of Outer Peace depicts Bear gazing intently at a computer screen, surrounded by instruments in a clean, sterile room. He reportedly created the majority of the album during an unaccompanied two-week retreat off Northern California’s Russian River, and this isolation can be felt throughout. The album’s title represents the remarkable possibility of finding freedom from the outside world by letting loose on the dance floor and experiencing liberation in a crowd of strangers. Bear certainly takes the album there at several points, but in the limited scope and cerebral slant of these too-brief songs, he loses that outer peace.
Label: Carpark Release Date: January 18, 2019 Buy: Amazon
Review: Joe Jackson’s Fool Is a Concise and Punchy Nostalgia Trip
On Fool, Joe Jackson sounds younger and angrier than he has in years.3.0
Joe Jackson has spent the better part of four decades trying to put some distance between himself and his debut, Look Sharp!, a collection of acerbic new-wave pop songs that earned him the label of “angry young man.” But on his 21st album, Fool, he sounds younger and angrier than he has since 2003’s deliberately retro Volume 4. Maybe it’s a symptom of nostalgia: Fool, after all, is being released almost 40 years to the day after Look Sharp!, accompanied by a tour that promises to draw from Jackson’s entire career.
The album’s first two singles, “Fabulously Absolute” and “Friend Better,” both seem to deliberately rekindle the spirit of 1979: the former with its wiry post-punk guitar and synth riffs, the latter with its snotty vocal cut from the same cloth as early Jackson hits like “Is She Really Going Out with Him?” Even the refrain of the opening track “Big Black Cloud”—“No luck, no money, no sex, no fun”—is torn straight out of the London punk playbook.
Not all of the album calls back so specifically to Jackson’s debut: With its jazz-inflected piano and flute, closing track “Alchemy” is a welcome return to the moody sophisti-pop of 1982’s Night and Day. More often, however, Fool‘s refined pop-rock recalls an amalgamation of styles from Jackson’s “classic” era while also reflecting his late-career maturity. Tracks like the elegiac “Strange Land” marry his long-standing jazz and classical ambitions with his undeniable knack for pop melody in a way that doesn’t shortchange either.
Jackson, though, still hasn’t quite shaken his tendency to overextend himself. The title track is well-played, with some virtuosic runs by longtime bassist Graham Maby, but it also careens from Jackson rapping into a megaphone to a madrigal-like bridge to a synthesized surf guitar solo. The Beatles-esque “Dave” holds together better musically, but its character study of a pure-hearted but simple-minded everyman, who could have something to teach us about slowing down and enjoying life, feels cloying and condescending.
If Fool doesn’t quite measure up to Jackson’s sterling early work, it’s still more concise and punchy than 2015’s Fast Forward and less self-consciously arty than his late-‘80s and ‘90s work. By now, Jackson has surely come to terms with the fact that he’ll never be able to outrun his new wave days; keeping it as just one of the tools in his expansive arsenal is a fine compromise.
Label: earMUSIC Release Date: January 18, 2019 Buy: Amazon