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The Frequency:
Self-Titled
I guess my first hint should have been Frequency frontman Sebastian Thomson's proclamation of "making music for the nite." Apparently vampires can't spell. Its hard to read in the eternal dark. I've been learning more and more about the contemporary vampire. Vampires, it seems, feed solely upon shoegazers. They lure them into darkly lit shows at small smoky clubs, they hypnotize them with music that'll make all those shoegazers wanna move, and then they feast on the blood of the semi-living. This all, assuming that The Frequency are a bunch of Indie Rock vampires. And after reviewing this album, I am a believer. Music for the night to make you want to move (you shoegazer, you). Thomson, on shore-leave from his more urgent and pressing band, Trans Am, dishes up smaller servings of the Liberation sound along with the heaviest synthesizer action seen on this side of 1990 on The Frequencys self-titled LP. Thomson, known for his hit-or-miss style on Trans Am albums, brings something very different to The Frequency's sound. Here we find Thomson exploring his more gothic, industrial, synthy interests in a fast-paced, beat 'em up of self-explanatory "Nite Music." And what exactly is "Nite Music," you ask? Think 1980's Vampire Movies. Fright Night. The Lost Boys. Think loud, screaming yet somehow distant vocals. Think heavy and high-pitched synth beats, fast enough for you to dance to and urgent enough for you to brood to. Think occasional, senseless and yet somehow appropriate sax solos in the last quarter of any given song. Think echo (echo echo echo echo ...) effects on the vocals (vocals vocals vocals vocals ...). All the magic that made the late 80's horror genre something truly laughable is now back, and done as right as possible. The album is strangely hypnotic. Walking the fine line between cheese and wit, The Frequency spends more time in the witty zone. Somehow their attempts at making me move made me move, despite myself even. Unlike Thomson's recent more political and egotistical attempts, The Frequency comes across as I believe the band wishes it to: pretentiously making you feel like you're not enjoying the smoky clubs enough, the music enough. Music is to be danced to, and this is The Frequency. But in the end, I am in no rush to see these hometown DC boys play their acid-washed-jeaned asses off. For me, the album is a throwback, an intentional ride into synthy-pop nostalgia. I, for one, do not mourn the loss of those days. So when they come through, I will simply throw on my old Poison tank top and watch some "Once Bitten." I feel like its safer that way.
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