The New York (and online) music press, myself included, have been getting in a lather about a quintet of normal looking lads making some really special music. Along the way, they have made some pretty influential fans (notably David Bowie) and anticipation had been building for their debut since their great demo began floating around. How is this any different from the rash of New York bands (i.e. The Strokes, TV on the Radio) that have been penetrating the music scene?
For starters, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah have been doing it the old fashioned way; There are no publicity blitzes here, just honest Arcade Fire style word of mouth. Not signed to any label (which will change shortly), they self-released their self-titled debut. Secondly, with the return of once-dormant genres of music to the mainstream (the success of The Mars Volta and prog-rock), this band has the potential to spur the return of commercially viable art-rock. But enough with the backstory, lets get to the music.
A Fellini-esque carnival organ greets the listener to begin the journey. “Clap Your Hands/(If you feel so lonely)/Clap Your Hands/(but it won’t do nothing)” singer Alec Ounsworth moans. His nasal vocal delivery is reminiscent at times of early David Byrne, but making superficial connections like this would be a disservice to the bands most effective tool. Over the layered melodies of electric and acoustic guitars along with keyboards, his wavering voice flows throughout the songs (check the final verse of “Let the Cool Goddess Rust Away”).
They show a lot of different faces throughout the album, all while maintaining a danceable quality. The disco-tinged fervor of “The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth” to the slow, methodical “Gimme Some Salt,” all has a head bobbing quality that trendy bars with large dancefloors (that no one dances on) play. There are a couple of short instrumental interludes that serve as nice bridges between shifts and bind the album together well. Here, too, the musical is singularly different but work great together. The toy piano innocence of “Sunshine and Clouds (and Everything Proud)” is worlds apart from the acoustic folk leanings (with a trace of flute) of “Blue Turning Grey, but within the context of the whole album, mesh perfectly. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
Closer “Upon This Tidal Wave of Young Blood” is a rollicking number that brings to mind The Feelies, but with keyboards. Repeatedly yelling an indecipherable mantra of “Child Stars,” Ounsworth reveals himself as the madman only hinted at the beginning of the album. The abrupt ending of the track after a climatic collage of musical synergy brings a sharp finality to an album that is the fastest forty minutes of music this year. I suppose an argument could be that there aren’t enough songs (nine total), but any attempt to alter it could ruin what is a great album from start to finish.
