Lightheaded

Now, I’m always a sucker for Slumberland, but after a sterling EP last year I’ve been particularly longing for the debut from New Jersey’s Lightheaded. The band has a knack for raising the jangle-pop bar, leaning into the smudged and strummed strains of the ‘80s and ‘90s while also wrapping their sound in ‘60s Brill Building cues and baroque pop touches. The album picks up where the EP left off, splashing lavender dashes of synth and sanguine harmonies among a comforting nest of jangles. The band bridges the ‘60s to Sarah divide like few others who’ve tried to pick up the bittersweet baton over the years. They bring to mind Veronica Falls’ adept balance and nesting doll harmonies, or label mates Kids on a Crime Spree in their ability to slip out of time completely. Alongside newcomers Parsnip, they’re leading the indie pop pool this year.

Touchstones aside, none of the aesthetics would matter much if the band didn’t have a tight grip on hooks, and in that department they deliver easily. The head-swum harmonies float the listener into a stable full of sighs and swoons that bob on the strums. The baroque pluck occasionally finds the band wandering through deeper pop wells populated by Boettcher and Brown, picking up ornamental touches from The Millennium and The Left Banke without turning towards garage revivalism. The album fills the room with a steady steam, a dry ice haze that comes on slow, but once it envelops the listener, it’s hard to escape from the band’s pillowy playland. The moment those strums fade, though, it’s back to reality and the longing to return sets in swiftly. I’d happily inhabit Combustible Gems all day long.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE.