Part of the reason I wanted to write for 10Listens was to try and grasp what albums felt like in the long run.  I needed to feel a connection to an album beyond immediate impact.  Where will an album grasp me?  Does it travel well?  Does it stimulate conversation?  Does it annoy the listener when he/she is alone?  I’ll reveal one of the problems with this idea right up front: there are albums that just don’t fit any of these scenarios.  Tons of them.  They are the detritus of the musical universe, floating around as a forgotten favorite in old stacks.  They are albums like Hang Up the Phone Dummy by the Fastbacks, Join Us by Bluetip, Redlight by Grails, War Zone by Black Moon, For If You Cannot Fly by Small Factory.  They are the thousands of albums with more soul than any of today’s most cherished acts, albeit forgotten.

I can’t help but feel like Headlights is veering down this path to forgetfulness.  All the parts are there: below-huge-indie-label status, good-not-great production, simplicity, male and female vocalists,  little to no surrounding hype and a one-titled and forgettable name.  The thing is, this album travels well, rocks at times, rambles on at times, has middling but oft poignant lyrics, grasps and ebbs and flows and stimulates and lulls.  It has flashes of pop genius and recognizably beautiful down times.  This album offers the indie fan everything they want and more– minus one important yet ridiculous detail.

This album doesn’t make the listener think they are a part of something bigger.  That is the crime of the bands I mentioned before.  When a band like Headlights puts out a stellar album, the listener feels like they have it all figured out; the band doesn’t need the listener’s approval.  This idea of importance is an altogether insane notion, but I think it holds true.  When a band like Grizzly Bear puts out a first album, there is something electric.  When a mainstay like Raekwon puts out an album, there is a steadfast prominence.  When a band like the Strokes comes about, the people are drawn to simplistic flaws or back story or some kind of prowess that does not belong in Headlights’ Wildlife.  Headlights have no target audience.  They have no specialty.  They merely have a stellar album that inspires the listener (if he/she is a fan) to stop what they are doing and await the aforementioned ebbs and flows.

This is not to say that Headlights have put out a perfect album by any means, not at all.  But they have a damn fine one.  By the time you have gotten to “Wisconsin Beaches,” a slow jam with a lovely banjo and slide guitar combination over wispy and raspy vocals, you have been asked how you felt about your dad dying amidst strife with your family (“Secrets”), been caught in a necessary rush (“Get Going”), been taken back to a sad and seemingly young reminiscence (“You and Eye”), and been inspired to nod your head to a long-distance love of home (“Telephones”).  “Telephones,” in fact, opens the album with an addicting beat and guitar line that continues to resonate with “Secrets.”  After “Wisconsin Beaches,” the sentimentality continues as the album winds toward the intoxicating “Slow Down Town.” The album ends there with an invitation to question the idea of friendship while embracing the slow wash of drunken celebration.

The questioning of life’s simplicity– the inquiring instead of telling attitude– may trick the listener into thinking of a boring and unrequited album.  I, however, celebrate the inquiries.  I celebrate the laid-back eye of each song and the changing atmosphere as the album progresses.  Wildlife may not make any top tens or any best of the decade lists, but it will stand the test of time the only way it knows how.  It will await its dust to be knocked off at the pivotal moments; the moments where a simple yes or no answer won’t do.  Headlights is a band that stimulate rather than formulate; make sense of times seemingly wasted.  I’ll take that over the formulas of success anytime.