Xylos | Bedrooms

FRESH BAKED
in NYC
Xylos
Bedrooms
2008 | Self-Released
C (but A- potential)

And what a strange little album hath Xylos wrought; an album that agitates the embers of that perennial question: what happens when incomparably gifted musicians decide to pursue shamelessly derivative pop music? What would that fabled amalgamation between The National and LFO sound like? Or Sufjan Stevens and Smash Mouth? Or Grizzly Bear and Sublime? Or, god-willing, Yeasayer and Hoobastank? It’s a complicated but endlessly enticing paradox: can the most effusively un-cool music in the world be honestly performed by the most immaculately and devastatingly cool Brooklynites? And will it sound good?

So here’s Xylos, and they do their damndest to offer an album that answers our desperate curiosity. Is it successful? Not really. Is it interesting? Sure. Basically, what we’re given is an impeccably crafted and performed EP of, at best, almost-interesting, rarely good songs. I want to be perfectly clear here: these songs sound amazing. They are incredibly produced – incredibly produced – and flawlessly performed. They’re lush and grandiose without sounding showy; organic and instrumentally complex. This is true Asthmatic Kitty territory. And they often eclipse that prodigal son of symphonic pop music in their own degree of artistic and compositional expertise and innovation.

The songs, however, are lacking. “Yellow Flip Flops,” though it starts dully, climaxes marvelously and naturally and maintains interesting dynamic, melodic, and rhythmic variations. But the remainder of the material flounders. Do we really want to hear some of our borough’s most gifted orchestral-pop musicians aping 90’s alternative radio? Because that’s what this is: the entire spectrum of alternative MOR radio songcraft. Near-fantastic hooks abound, but none even approach the splendor of “Yellow Flip Flops.” Instead, they are all stunted, unresolved and unrealized. And we’re not given much lyrically either, insofar as any of the lyrics assert themselves at all. Unfortunately, when you’re a pop band that’s lacking in any truly revelatory lyrical content, it’s generally going to be the lesser of your lyrics that stand out. Take, for example, the album’s opening couplet: “You want to know him, but he just likes your face / Takes down your number, he’ll ask you on a date.” Really? I can appreciate the possibility of discovering some adorable, underlying personality to lyrics so cutesy, but often Xylos’ are just cloying and relentless. I mean, The National and Sufjan Stevens have their fair share of jaw-droppingly mundane, clichéd lyrics; but they’re each and all measured and countered, redefined and appropriated.

As I see it, here’s what we have at the end of the day: an impossibly promising band facing some pretty epic roadblocks. Could Xylos be the next Brooklyn phenomenon? Unquestionably. Are they a bad band? Not in the least. They’re an immediately stunning band, perhaps an amazing band, playing music that’s far beneath them. And if their songcraft ever reaches the same level as their incredible capacity as performers, they just might be the Brooklyn band to beat. And so, Xylos, godspeed and good luck. Now bring it on home.

by Chris Kiehne