Spring -- in case you were too busy holed up with an Xbox and a case of Five-Hour Energy to notice -- has pretty much sprung. Which is why this is as a good a time as any for rousing, energetic tunes that resonate equally well through ear buds and car stereos and home hi-fi systems, like the latest track from Lissy Trullie (at right).
Turn on, tune in, jam out.
5. Miike Snow, "Paddling Out"
I have the same problem with Miike Snow that I have with other acts of their ilk: gangs of techie/producer types effing with computers in attempts to simulate real-life band songs leave a lot to be desired, unless the principles really know what they're doing. It doesn't help much that Andrew Wyatt isn't the sort of singer who should be fronting a "band." But I don't mind "Paddling Out" in a Muzak kind of way, because it's so milquetoast and unobtrusive -- celebratory, meaningless, forgettable, Big Beat lite -- that if this thing somehow winds up soundtracking multiple commercials and impromptu trips to malls for the rest of the year, I won't wind up wanting to kill myself.
4. Felix Cartal feat. Miss Palmer, "From Black To White"
Similar to "Paddling Out" -- heavy piano/synth petting, programmed beats, penetrating melodic propulsion, et al -- only savvier, ear-wormier, more "house," or something. Like 95 percent of all electronic-pop songs, "From Black To White" has a nothing vocalist it doesn't need, but that isn't enough to keep me from praying for a half-hour long Pictureplane remix of that divine hook.
3. Aaron Dilloway, "Eight Cut Scars (For Robert Turman)"
If I told you that multiple, spastic loops of what sounds like a trumpeter imitating a rooster's daybreak cries -- with the loops running, increasingly, gripped-by-the-short'n'curlies tight, so that "bonkers video-game music" eventually subs better as a reference -- for 11 minutes was equivalent to the effect of shot-gunning three energy drinks in two minutes, would you believe me?
2. Lissy Trullie, "It's Only You, Isn't It?"
Like most of Trullie's self-titled debut, "You" fairly reeks of desperation, octane, and cocaine -- the Holy Trinity, if you like -- but there's something intriguingly alluring about the way Trullie's evasive, pinched-syllable plaints play off of the song's cocked-pistol guitars. She breaks into your head and establishes a lucrative Starbucks franchise there, you know?
1. Plums, "Sigmar Polke (Edit)"
As of now, Plums' White LP is vinyl-only, which is a fucking shame, because were White a CD, "Sigmar Polke" would be enough, by its meta-dynamic lonesome, to power your automobile after you'd a) run out of gasoline and b) gotten tired of pushing the thing from behind.
There's nothing much to hum here, no refrain, no studio wizardry afoot: just hot-shit underground musicians backing warily into one another at first before locking into the kind of post-Wire/post-Fugazi/post-Electralane locomotion that could power a small suburb under the proper conditions.
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