Let's Break Unbroken Ground

Polytechnic, "Won't You Come Around?" - A year or so later, here's the one immutable thing about Clap Your Hands Say Yeah: by this point, I don't think even the old guard of the Shoegaze and Spiderland Marching And Chowder Society can deny the fact that they're notable if only on the basis of how quickly they carved out a name for themselves as a category of modern music - by this point, you can pretty much go up to anyone with even a passing familiarity with 'Forkery and start talking about "that new band that sounds like Clap Your Hands" and get a beard-stroking nod of cognizant solidarity in return, even if you make the aforementioned new band up from whole cloth. Granted, I'm not sure if it's necessarily a praiseworthy accomplishment - I mean, your chances of catching me at a CYHSY show howling "YOU GUYS SOUND LIKE SO MANY OTHER FUCKIN' BANDS!" at Alec Ounsworth in a moment of triumphant reverie are still only about as good as they were when you started reading this sentence - but it does seem significant somehow; these days, it's easy enough to write off a band - especially a band that came up through the indie ranks - as a trifling little cipher of their influences that I've actually heard my little sister do it successfully. Crossing over to the other side, then - transforming from a band that sounds like other bands into a band that other bands sound like - almost feels like destiny being fulfilled, and even if it's not a particularly noble destiny, it's still a destiny a lot of bands would probably kill for, including a lot of the bands being musically quoted in the first place.

All of which is to say that Manchester's Polytechnic may just be the most Clap Your Hands-esque band since, well, last March. Due to the fact that two years ago I would have had to fumble around with a mishmash of below-the-surface bands in order to encapsulate their particular brand of partly jangly, partly hard-charging, almost predictably and overpoweringly catchy indie-pop (although I suppose I could have just said "Boy, here's something to play when you want to piss off all the Pavement loyalists in a room" - I mean, that is CYHSY's essence, right?), I almost feel like I should be apologizing for neatly tucking them away under this one very recent and very convenient umbrella, but I don't really know if that's fair - their particular brand of recursive, soaring indie-pop really does feel like its own accomplishment, just an accomplishment very much in line with a bunch of other recent ones. And, to be certain, "Won't You Come Around" really does feel like an accomplishment; it may not have the blowaway immediacy of a "By The Skin Of My Yellow Country Teeth" or anything, but it's a hell of a little thing for a song to maintain the kind of energy level that comes with bashing away at a drumkit the way it does, especially when maintainance has to come in the form of seven thousand delicately unassuming (yet ferociously effective) guitar hooks. It's just that since it's the kind of accomplishment that hints less at "momentum" than "traction", it's likely to get overlooked, and that'd be a shame. It's quite a little song from quite a little band, and at the risk of being paradoxical, I hope my use of the word "little" doesn't diminish them too much. (Click here to buy the "Won't You Come Around/Let Me Down" double A-side from Rough Trade - it's a limited affair, so you might want to act quick.)

New Young Pony Club, "The Get Go" - I've been sleeping on New Young Pony Club for what seems like ages now, but, as you can probably guess, that has less to do with the quality of their music than with my status atop the list of the stupidest people in history. I mean, by now I'd have hoped that I might have realized that all music might not be built from the basement on up with the sole intention of gradually picking up steam until it comes barrelling through the walls of my obstinacy; sometimes music prefers to simply knock on the door and make itself available, and it's up to you to keep up with its laconic, measured cadence rather than it with your circus-like mental scenery. Fortunately, songs like this have a chance of catching me in a moment of clarity, as "The Get Go" most certainly did a few nights ago - all of a sudden, that tragically hip, oh-so-oh-four post-punk sultriness started sounding a whole hell of a lot more appealing than it did a few hours before. There's just so much empty space on the song that everything seems to come together almost at right angles - every single gesture of musical punctuation, from the Debbie Harry-esque detachment of Tahita's vocals to the relatively restrained use of those warm synths during the verses to, above all else, that uber-insistent snare drum, practically feels like a very emphatic sentence-closing period. It is also supremely catchy in that shrugged-off way that only super-(dis)affected post-post-punk can ever seem to manage, especially that chorus featuring the most bloodless "Ba ba ba"-type patter you'll ever encounter. (Click here to buy the single for "The Get Go" used from a GEMM merchant)

Rumble Strips, "Hate Me You Do" - ATTENTION INDIE DISCO DJS: I am about to do your job for you. If the ever-throbbing dancefloor confined entirely within my head is any indication, here is exactly how you get a bunch of graphic-design majors to spill their drinks in frenzied excitement next time you're out on the job:

1. Play Andrew Bird's "Fake Palindromes" to completion
2. Play Rumble Strips' "Hate Me You Do" to completion
3. Play Tapes 'n Tapes' "The Insistor" to completion
4. if desired, play the Long Blondes' "Fulwood Babylon" to completion
5. Recieve a scandalous amount of blowjobs from ratty indie chicks

See? It's just that easy. Thank me later. (Click here to buy the "Hate Me You Do" single from Rough Trade - fuck, what, did I accidentally discover Rough Tradesmas or something?)