Narcotic, atmospheric pop is sort of a thing, at least in the ears of Dolby Disaster & Co., and while I wait forever for this phantom Deerhunter album to come out (it’s like the phantom menace) I might as well turn my head up and down and turn it turn it around over to Say Sue Me, which seems to be an Asian entity of some sort. First song on album is most pleasing, with guitar close-shredding bathed in fathoms of reverb and snares that are amazingly loud and guttural for their preciously scant amount of actual vibration or sound after the fact (the cosmological opposite would be that horrible “wet” sound of the ’80s and Pearl Jam – Ten). This is The Gaslight Anthem slowed down and, well, made by a woman, gripping the listener in for a sled ride down a moon lit hill of Modest Mouse chord progression give the guitar texture of Wolf Parade and the vocals (as well as coincidentally the aesthetic look) of Japanese Breakfast.
“But I Like You” gushes in as pure summer with arms full of Lunchables, all punk rock spirit and possibility (another parallel with the Gaslights), vocals approximating Shonen Knife with an endearing coyness (and considering I just listened to “All Tomorrow’s Parties” straight trough two times, you might say I can abide some serious coyness there). Altough I can barely understand the lyrics, they’re compelling nonetheless insofar as trying to listen to what she’s saying (at one point I thought she was saying “I don’t care about the meaning of life”, but it ended up being something slightly different). “But I Like You” is climactic and interesting, like if the Pixies actually had any healthy life habits as people, or something unbelievable like that.
“Funny and Cute” gels in with a gentle steel guitar, a ploy betokened by Japanese Breakfast herself as well actually, cementing this album as a grower as well as an immediate more kinetic pop option preferable to Beach House if only for its lack of gimmick. The sense of roundness and pop’s incentive to compete little cycles within itself calls to mind whitechocolatespaceegg-era Liz Phair or maybe The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, with, appropriately enough, a sort of High Fidelity-hearkening cafe “coolness” about it. Marcy seems to have finally outgrown the playground, but snowballed up some serious aching songwriting sensibility along the way.