The visual reference on Crepes debut LP is pretty straight forward, these guys err on the side of The Beatles in any debate over ’60s rock heroes, and they indulge in the lushest sides of the band’s emotional wake. Channel Four is rooted in the pop tradition, swirling through eddies of icy cool and exhaling steam rings laced with hooks all over a hot n’ bothered 2017. They’ve wedged themselves into a lounged detachment that pushes their sheened and shined pop into a territory that’s a notch above similarly minded smooth indie-poppers, finding purchase in honing the perfect sound that haunts their memories.
Led by the cream-swirled vocals and songwriting of Tim Karmouche (The Murlocs, Dreamin’ Wild), the record is lodged into an early ’70s hangover that re-purposes the pop traditions of the prior decade into a loftier arc, writing works for albums that were meant to be exhibited wholesale rather than split piecemeal into radio rotation. They have updated it, naturally, with a sensibility that employs modern takes, but it’s really the spirit that moves Channel Four. Lovelorn and windswept, the album breezes through the speakers with a draped melancholy that’s admirable in its commitment to tonality.
Sure, breezy pop is rife on both sides of the globe these days, there’s always going to be bands vying to knock Real Estate off of their pedestal of accessible indie wallpaper rock dominance. That’s what makes this one such a joy. It’s equally as accessible to your most clueless friends, catchy and unassuming in it’s digestion of the past. However, few of the other contenders glow with the kind of lost classic quality that crowns Channel Four. This feels like the heir apparent to the reissue kings of current vogue. Dig in now before it’s rediscovered 20 years down.
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