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| Review of Some Band |
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Oh, the former Soviet Union. I love you guys and your weird microcosmic societies. Something I love about Russia is that they come out with their own versions of everything, gathering details of what the original was “kind of” like, and then cranking out a completely unique take on it. Since Russians hate everything that wasn’t manufactured by other Russians for little to no money, many of them embrace the weird parallel copies with the same capitalist fervor of us Americans do with our originals. Not all Soviet copies of American products are dodgy; they are responsible for the Formanta Polivoks, an ultra powerful monster of a synthesizer that sounded dirtier than a KGB mustache looked. The Soviets were also the sole manufacturer of vacuum tubes, used since the dawning of music to provide that guitar warmth that so many old dudes chase. We now flash back to the 1980s, where the primary colors shifted from red, blue and yellow to hot pink, teal and purple. The U.S.S.R. had a pretty strict law in place forbidding Soviets from having fun. Internally, the Soviets likely cobbled together a weird vision of how the rest of the world was living at the time. Static-y Soviet broadcasting carried images all over Mother Russia, and the Soviets, as they have throughout history, took the most interesting parts of the broadcasting and formed this bizarre 1980s proto-culture that would only be known to other Soviets. That is, until they got the internet. Presently, in 2009, the full brunt of the Soviets’ love of the American ’80s can be broadcast from the highest mountaintop... in Russia. A band has formed in Moscow that sounds like they never stopped living in the ’80s; a band who sounds like they still think it’s cool to have silk scrolls of Depeche Mode hanging on the ceiling above their beds. That band is Tesla Boy, and unlike other bands who have desperately tried to cling to this sound, they’re doing it right—period-specific gear included. When I play tracks from this band’s newest disc—an eponymous EP—most people kind of crinkle their nose as if they have smelled something particularly awful. Usually, when I rave about some new band, it isn’t anything remotely like this. People have grown accustomed to my tastes, because I am boring and it’s all I talk about. Expecting something fresh and then hearing this stuff is akin to eating a Harry Potter earwax jellybean or tripping on a top step that is smaller than the steps that precede it. The main difference you’ll notice between this band and any other current shitty ’80s throwback band is that these guys record music that sounds like a continuation of the ’80s, and not a new take on the synthpop genre. Until you actually hear Tesla Boy, this sounds like a pretty trivial difference, and not worthy of note. Let me assure you, though, that Tesla Boy has discovered something wonderful; being fresh by wholly consuming a tired, bloated corpse of a genre. Remember how all sorts of current bands are trying to be “the NEXT synthpop band?” Tesla Boy strives to be “a synthpop band.” That is awesome. The EP starts out with an awesome, era-specific electric piano and an OMD-esque arpeggiated glissando that should immediately command your attention. If that doesn’t do it, you’ll be pleased to discover that these guys have absolutely nailed the reverbed ’80s drum tone. These two sounds, the first you hear on the album’s opener “Spirit of the Night,” lay the groundwork for most of the record, with frontman Anton Sevidov crooning out some very catchy—yet very soulful—Neil Tennant-esque melodies. The star of this EP is easily “Neon Love,” a slow-paced seven-minute opus that incorporates every good thing about synthpop into one irresistible package that guarantees at least one toe-tapping session. In this song, bassist Dima Midborn takes a rest and jumps on keys. The result is a piece that will make you want to play it for your friends, then lie and say you heard of them first. Actually, do that anyway. Since the drummer’s name is actually Boris, I can officially say that I love these guys. You should, too. Since you’ve likely ascertained a warped perception of the ’80s through crappy movies and American Apparel’s last two years of clothing, trust me when I say this stuff is carrying the torch that Depeche Mode pawned for eyeliner back in 1992.  |
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