The world is in the midst of an electronic music renaissance, and you find most of this boon of producers laying claim to the club-friendly, bass-dropping variety, holing up in the the free-flowing world of hip-hop beatmaking or pitching their tent on the out-there, boundary-pushing EDM camp.
Broncho has never been hurting in the hook department. The success of the trio’s 2011 debut, Can’t Get Past the Lips, was predicated mostly on its ability to marry melodies with kinetic guitar riffs and anarchic energy. Yet we’ve heard nothing to the degree of pure pop catchiness on display in “Class Historian,” the new single from Broncho’s upcoming sophomore album, Just Enough Hip to Be Woman.
No one wants to be forgotten; everyone wants some sort of legacy, a mark they leave behind as they exit this life for whatever lies beyond.
And for as long as there has been death, there have been monuments — whether austere or understated, abstract or concrete, prominent or tucked away in private — erected by the ones they loved to assure that remembrance, at least for a time.
Some of the best albums and artists were born out of happy accidents owed to varying degrees of early suckage — the perfect note or chord for a song found by missing the one you are aiming for, failed mimicry of an idol bearing something entirely new and great instead.
It’s obvious The Wurly Birds want to take you back, way back. The
affection for The Beatles’ perfect pop-rock ballads couldn’t be more
clear, and in “Turns,” the Oklahoma City five-piece does that golden
Its self-titled debut did much of the same, but with more subtle production and a hazy, psychedelic tone, “Turns” does it all the better.
It acts like a connect-the dots between the best and brightest of that era of rock ’n’ roll, linking The Velvet Underground (“No Disguise”) to The Zombies (“We Can’t Always Agree”) and The Kinks (“It’s Love”) to Sam Cooke (“I Should Have Been Better”). One would assume some tacky monstrosity of peace signs, free love and tie-dye, but instead, “Turns” feels plucked from some humble rock club of the ’60s rather than pieced together using some “Woodstock for Dummies” guide.
Only with musicianship so honest and outstanding could an act pull off such a feat.
Singer/guitarists Taylor Johnson and Chris Anderson take turns delivering understated lines in a sonically lush tone over impeccably tight rhythm and hooks from the rest of the gang. All in all, it’s remarkably authentic, with ne’er even a moment feeling out-of-place. “Turns” is as much a time warp as it is an album — one hatched on vinyl, of course. —Joshua Boydston