I’m no expert regarding indie bands, but there is always something recurring when it comes to them: There is always a flaw. Sometimes is an evident low quality in the recording process, a lack of skills, meaningless lyrics and the list goes on. This of course creates a bias whenever I’m exposed to some new material from a band I’m not related.
Before I say anything more, let me explain how I got my hands on this record: I usually listen exclusively to my own collection of music for weeks, and eventually I will feel the need to add some new records, which means loading up SomaFM. One evening not so long ago I came across an intriguing song, called Don’t know till you try, and long story short, this record was in my iPod ready to be fired up.
I was expecting to find the omnipresent flaw I was talking earlier, and being honest, it never showed up. Instead I was left alone, guard-less, against a completely unexpected outcome. What happened? I was taken by surprise by a record that feels like it was just extracted from a time capsule that was buried in the late 60s.
This is not your typical record that relies completely on some gimmick, which in this case would be the whole 1960 atmosphere, because even though I’m too young to have been even alive by then (hell, even my parents were just teenagers back then), The Postmarks did a great job pulling this off and now we have a chance to taste what it was like. You don’t have to be a fan of music from that frame of time to understand what makes it so good, you just have to put this on whatever you use to listen to your music, and right away the first track will bring you back some memories if you actually had the chance to be alive by then, or if you didn’t, don’t be surprised if your mind tries to recreate a memory to fill in the gap.
The lyrics aren’t breath-taking for the most part, but they don’t come up short either. I’m suspecting that music that sounds and feels well executed just like this can get away with that, or at least I want to believe that. I couldn’t help feeling that songs like My lucky charm or Go jetsetter are just too soft, I blame the well done vocal work for that. I liked the fact that the whole set of songs are too much alike, without becoming monotonous, and still with enough variants to make the ride enjoyable from start to end.
The brighter note, however, is that it was not until I reached the end of the record that I discovered something fascinating. Halfway through The girl from Algenib I realized that what was in front of me was the ultimate déjà-vu experience. Years of watching japanese cartoons in the mid 80s taught me that feeling of living sublime experiences through visuals and music, and this song specifically brought that back to my mind because it is a carbon copy of the music I remember being exposed as a kid.
In the end it was just too much to handle, and 20 years later a song describing the troubled life of a girl from a star in the Pegasus constellation had the same effect as spending a saturday afternoon watching clips of old childhood memories on YouTube.