A wistful, timeless indie classic that subtly rewards in understated ways.
By: Jack Stein
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Nearly everything about burgeoning Ridgewood, New Jersey crew Real Estate is understated, unassuming, even slight. The band name itself is so generic it crashes Google; the near-extinct “Traditional Indie Band Lineup” (vocalist/guitar/bass/ drums…no MPCs or 808s?!) that Real Estate employs harkens to the halcyon days when Pavement and Dinosaur Jr. were ruling college airwaves; the sonics themselves are a delightfully hazy web of jangled guitars, pattering drums and gently murmured vocals, certainly nothing remotely close to the shot of norepinephrene that so much of 2011’s music attemped to administer (insert dubstep dig here.) Indeed, especially amid the Year of Cacophony that so often greeted us in 2011- from M83’s in-your-face earnestness, the unrelenting pulse of Skrillex and cronies, and even the thunderous boom-bap of Clams Casino – Real Estate seems almost out of place with the current sonic landscape. However, therein lies the beauty of this band’s approach. What these four nonchalant guys from suburban New Jersey have quietly done is (shh…) crafted one of the most wistful, tersely gorgeous, and simply masterful records of the year, proving that, in the hands of exceptional songwriters, less is often more. And to think: all done without turning on a distortion pedal, employing a synthesizer, or raising the vocals above an insistent coo.
The secret behind Real Estate’s tremendous successes here lies beneath the sonically placid surface in the astounding levels of emotional accuracy with which they depict the ubiquitously uneasy feeling of searching to find one’s place in this world. The lyrics take much more of a precedence here than on their comparably hazy self-titled 2009 debut, with Martin Courtney’s vocals pushed to the front of the mix – and with dramatic effects. The songs alternate between brilliant paens to nostalgia for a youth and carelessness long lost (“Green Aisles”, “Three Blocks”), wistfulness towards a past love (“Wonder Years”), or an insistent desire to believe in something authentic in a world where seemingly so little is (“It’s Real.) Similarly to how the increased clarity of the vocals on Deerhunter’s latest effort Halcyon Digest served to shine a light on the previously obscured thematic content, this crucial change takes the jams from stoned and ambling to purposeful, direct, and almost blindingly bright (in a late August, setting-sun kind of way.)
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