Receive Weekly Email and Text Message Updates:
Sign up for latest info on concerts, dining, promotions and more!
Go!

Related Stories ...

Most Popular

Reader's Picks

Top Recommendations

A short list of Minneapolis's most popular hot spots.
user content provided by: LikeMe.net & City Pages

Recent Blog Posts

National Features >

  • Village Voice

    The Great Walls of Chinatown

    With the exception of the electric rice cookers, this Bowery tenement could have come straight from the Nineteenth Century.

    By Elizabeth Dwoskin

  • Houston Press

    Getting Off

    DUI attorney Tyler Flood wins 80 percent of his trials--even if his clients were 100 percent drunk.

    By Mike Giglio

  • Miami New Times

    Park or Die Tryin'

    From the homeless parking mafia to the meter fairy, finding a spot in Miami has taken a turn toward the surreal.

    By Gus Garcia-Roberts

Silverchair: Young Modern

Share

  • rss

Edd Hurt

Published on August 01, 2007

Silverchair
Young Modern
Eleven Records

High-strung and theoretical, Silverchair's Young Modern deflates its own cleverness with multiplied backing vocals and chord changes that drop through trapdoors. Australians whose creamy avidity takes the baroque tendencies of forefathers such as the Easybeats to places Vanda and Young would be interested to visit, they've used the five years since their last batch of originals to check things out. They now sound pleasantly overwhelmed, well-traveled, and happy to be alive.

This is dense music, with mutating structures whose Beach Boys harmonies, Big Star guitar dislocations, and electric piano jabs recall any number of nervous popsters. If "Waiting All Day" sounds like the Zombies, or if "If I Keep Losing Sleep" recalls the dB's of Stands for Decibels, auteur Daniel Johns comes across like a man of at least two minds about everything. From the sun-baked slide guitar of "Low" to Van Dyke Parks's string arrangements, Young Modern staggers around and gets away with it, making it sound like fun.

Still, Modern bares its soul—for what that's worth. In "Straight Lines," Johns is "racing through the void in my head." Elsewhere, he decides, "I'll move on back to the country." Fat chance. He's hooked on glamour and overload, which get him closer to the home he's too modern (if not too young) to desire. This is pop as evasion, except that he sounds sincere on the closer when he sings, "We can break this drought/Wanna tell you that I love ya, I need ya, in the night."