Slightly short of a masterpiece. I don’t know much about Hot Chip. A week before I first heard this record, their 2006 tune “Over And Over” played on a barroom juke box and I recall thinking, “what an annoying song.” I may have winced at a photo of them dressed in that ultra-ironic style with which only Londoners can trump Brooklynites in terms of garishness. That was the extent of my knowledge.  So I can’t tell you about how this record (their fourth studio recording) sits in context to their previous releases. I don’t know anything about the backstory of the band, their previous accolades, their critics–none of it. All I have is this brilliant, effusive, bubbling little record. It spans decades of songwriting and production styles, canvasses a multitude of emotions, and falls a hair below uninterrupted brilliance.

Something I’ve often noticed with popular modern English music is its willingness to embrace elements of popular culture that might be considered gauche in current prisms. The Klaxons did so with rave (perhaps only to the extent of their clothing; it’s debatable) and Lily Allen embraced a ska sensibility long after the fashionable porkpie hats.  Naturally, One Life Stand begins with an onslaught of retro instrumentation: squiggly synths, string samples, Big Beat kicks… Only the production standard (effervescent in its mixing–one of the more modernistic electronic treatments I’ve heard in a while) betrays that this wasn’t a 1992 release. On first listen, I was tempted to write it off. Another London Group Without Originality Replicates The Past (La Roux, anyone?). It’s not that easy to dismiss, however. Perhaps the chap with the Keytar really is a virtuoso.

After the triumvirate of throwbacks to the 90s, Stand eases itself into the album’s first single and title track. It’s a song that needs coaxing to achieve full greatness–many of the tracks on this album do, in fact songs hit the bridge and change course dramatically in several instances. Layering steel drums, hand claps and laser stabs over a stubby, sawtooth bass line, Hot Chip slide into a smooth vocal mix repeating a simple mantra, “I only want to be your one life stand/Tell me, do you stand by your man?” Slightly distorted synth– I could have sworn I heard on Momus’ 1988 Tender Pervert LP– separate verses with some more of the record’s previous retro embrace. Five minutes later and the band has seemingly felt emboldened, ready to take a chance (the oddly hypnotic “Slush”).

Lyrical simplicity is another of the nice little nuances found here. Nothing gets too complex or long-winded. Probably the most matter-of-fact couplets we hear are on the outstanding track “Alley Cats”: “Well, we sleep inside of blankets in bed/Planted like the crocuses/And I wish my mother could/See the ring I bought”. It’s one of the few instances of the lyrics of Stand explicitly telling a story, quickly fading back to the overlying ethos of the record’s words–more ideas rather than recollections, “You painted a song/It started when I was young/Now it is in my lung”.

One Life Stand never really changes from its foundation of synth-based dance music. It’s what’s added in the small fills, the breaks before a chorus or bridge that make the lasting difference. It’s the song structure, the turns into darkness (or euphoria, on terrific closer “Take It In”) that set the album apart from the rest. So what makes it one pound less than a grand?

Well, two songs, to be specific. Penultimate track “Keep Quiet” seems almost sheepishly formulaic; it has none of the lily-gilding touches of brilliance that grace the other tracks, nor the personality to survive on its own. “Brothers,” a sort of pub chant-cum-Pulp riff falls into annoying territory after third listen. Too bad. One Life Stand is one of those records anyone who loves music is elated to find: a surprise turn, a changed opinion, an album that seizes your emotions for a good week or two and leaves you obsessed. It’s a record bathed in aural references to the past yet feels cutting-edge. I just wish it was one that I could turn on and let play out in its entire, evocative glory.

So this is how the affair ends, is it? Such a shame. Los Campesinos!, a Welsh septet known for their chaotic-yet-controlled ruminations on failed romance (and their frenetic recording; their two previous albums were released within eight months of each other) are the musical equivalent to The One That Got Away. Fans of previous effort We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed may have expected a bit of the same with the new album, albeit with perhaps the precision of an evolving act. They would be sorely disappointed.

I suppose it’s evident in the title! Romance Is Boring. Doesn’t exactly carry the same raised-eyebrow weight of Doomed, does it? Instead it comes off as a reduction of all the ills that plague Los Campesinos! as they enter this new stage of their career: a disaffection with any aspect of life beyond the most cynical self-hatred, an exultation of giving up on any semblance of happiness or excitement and, most of all, a total lack of interest in seducing listeners with the awesome power of seven musicians who can really tear shit up when they want to. It’s a sad, unpalatable boiling-down of Los Campesinos’ brief history. Being in love with life, or music, is shit. So why bother?

Doomed and 2008’s Hold On Now, Youngster… presented a fresh take on a formula as old as Cap’n Jazz; a rambling wreck of guitars, strings and keys clattering in a brilliant unison under the vocals of Gareth’s almost spoken-word soliloquies. It was a cacophony of indie instrumentation but oddly beautiful. If anything, the band knew the beauty of moderation, be it with a full-band chorus of vocals to emphasize the wrenching pain of a certain verse or string-breaking guitar strumming sliding effortlessly into virtuoso fingering when a song verged too close to angst-driven overkill.

Of course Gareth wasn’t the first UK native to pine for a simpler connection between the sexes, but there was something uniquely clever and honest about his lyrics. Here was the lion with kitten’s paws, in love with the idea of romance yet finding nothing in the twenty-first century wasteland of youth culture. He was the smart kid with the kind heart threatening to hurt himself… You realized his emotions were real yet in the end you also knew things would work out for him. Or so you thought.

Instead now we have “Straight In At 101″, a classically Campesinos tune with lyrics as trite as “feels like the build-up takes forever but you never touch my cock”. Perhaps the smart kid with the kind heart hit rock bottom? Not a good look for the boy you thought you knew. Female co-vocalist Aleks (Or is it Gareth’s sister, new-hire Kim? It’s impossible to tell but one of them keeps edging horribly into Riot-Grrl territory) offers this gem on “We’ve Got Your Back”: “I’m sweating off the cheat notes on my thighs; they’re for your benefit not mine”. I don’t know, am I suddenly the grumpy old man on the indie rock block or is this all just puerile nonsense? To boot, we have another bloody reference to “Doe Eyes” (Youngster fans will understand). Could it be a subtle hint to the absolute mediocrity of the effort? Maybe I’m the paranoid old man instead. It’s a real shame because as first single “The Sea Is A Good Place To Think Of The Future” showed, the band is perfectly capable of keeping the killer music while maturing the lyrical content.

At least these three songs have sustainability. I found myself humming them in the shower and eager to play them back during my commutes and workouts. Understand though that most of Boring is the calamity of Los Campesinos without the flashes of beauty. Noodling guitar lines (heavily distorted) and shouts (not nearly as in unison as with previous recordings) seem thrown in as last resorts. There are no ascensions to glory in these tracks; the first thirty seconds of the song are about as good as it gets. A couple of tunes devolve into teetering monologues over silence, chugging so slowly into anti-climactic ends that you almost want to tell poor Gareth to just shut it.

And so it goes that as this assignment ends, I relegate Boring to a spare 50 MB of my iTunes. Several of the songs will be welcome reminders in future shuffle sessions. None will stay with me like some of Los Campesinos’ previous efforts. It was a nice run… I fell head over heels for them and cooled a bit only to love them more. Upon which we reached a crossroads and there it all became clearer: the self-pity, the blemishes, the repetitive content of our interactions. I made the decision that maybe it’d be better if we just went our separate ways.

Enjoy.

Download:  Zach Barocas Interview

Previously:  Jawbox: For Your Own Special Sweetheart (Remastered and Reissued 2009)

The XX – “XX” One of the basic philosophies here at the Foreign Desk of 10 Listens is that backstory has little value in critical evaluation of a recording. Does the fact that the latest “it” band formed as schoolmates really add that much to the listening experience? Would the guitar tone sound any different knowing that the lead axe man spent two years in a psychiatric institution? These tidbits sure do make for good promo copy but they tend to taint the perception of otherwise underwhelming music, or at best they elevate good music to almost mythical status. A much more rational approach would be to take the album at face value, the notes for what they are, the songs merely as compositions and not acoutrements to a greater expository narrative.

That said, London’s The XX have gained quite a bit of indie hype recently for one particular aspect of their band bio–each of the members is a mere 20 years old, still quite an early age in a genre where it’s not uncommon to have relative superstars approaching 40. On first listen I wanted to rid myself of this knowledge, but with each subsequent go-round it became an inescapable fact. That’s not necessarily a positive thing, however.

What you should know: “XX” is a competent debut album, regardless of the age of those who created it. It is a dark, sleek, stripped down blend of that ubiquitous style of rock (angular) and soulful male/female singing hasn’t been readily heard on either side of the Atlantic.  At least, not heard with the recent trendy 80s-revival and folk-tinged introspection. What we’re presented with is a very modern record, one that takes influence from a spectrum of lovelorn songs spanning decades. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume these youngsters have dabbled in Prince as much as they have New Order. There is a repetitive nature to each track on “XX’. An MPC takes the place of a traditional drumkit and with each precise, identical handclap or snare hit, something of a pre-fabricated foundation takes the place of what would otherwise have stood alone as an integral instrument. Willowy, simple guitar lines heavy with reverb string along through each track, assuming higher notes in counterbalance to darker, sweeping synth accompaniments. One such thread saves “Basic Space” from being the awkward dancer at the party; just when hope is lost an ethereal yet syncopated fingering of notes transforms the song from FM radio fodder to sensual mixtape essential.

Would it have killed them to use a couple of different pedals, though? One wonders whether the repertoire of the two guitarists should be chalked up to inexperience or deliberate minimalism. Jonny Greenwood won’t lose any sleep or find any inspiration from these guys but hey, everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?

Perhaps where the youthfulness of The XX is most apparent is in the lyrics. There are the typical metaphors found in darkened love songs: months passing, objects on fire. This is par for the course and possible within any band’s vocabulary. More troubling are repeated references to “giving it up” to someone, presumably euphemistic allusions to sex that while attempting to lend some sort of modern cache end up bordering on cringe-worthy. What ends up working much more effectively are basic statements repeated in just the right amount–the band can craft a memorable hook as well as any NME chart topper.  Sometimes they’re not even coherent words! Take the irresistible “highyighyigh” of single “Crystalised”.

The album opener “Intro” remains, after ten listens, the best ambassador for The XX’s ambition and ability. With sharp yet flowing guitar lines needling along at a mid-tempo rhythm, a robotic sawtooth keyboard hums above complex, jagged drumming. Each of the singers’ remarkable and wonderfully casual voices get a nice warm-up without the bother of any mash note romanticist lyrics getting in the way. It’s a vivid statement to start a solid showing; “Darkness is what’s hot and we do it quite well.” Perhaps this trend away from the day-glo spatters of Nu-Rave and Post Punk are here to stay, or maybe they’re just easily noticed in the current British music climate. Either way, The XX prove that they have promise, albeit one that only will grow with time. Here’s to hoping that a follow-up record will retain the keen ear for mature sound palettes, along with an adventurousness that can only come with age.