Prism Shores

On their new album, Montreal’s Prism Shores scan through the static of indie pop’s past, flirting with the fuzz of the ‘90s and the earnestness of the late ‘80s as it seeped through the halls of Dutch East India, Flying Nun, and IRS. The record blusters into view on a flurry of strums soaked in a feedback fizz that chews at the edges of shoegaze but doesn’t tumble in totally. The band thumbs through the seeds of self-doubt, youthful mistakes, and early onset ennui, a lyrical foil for their turbulent hooks. Indie pop’s had a penchant lately for chewing on the frayed ends of indie rock’s early days, and Prism Shores seem to love the assignment of meshing the camps together, working their patchwork pop with the best of them. The band hangs tight to the power pop classics from Teenage Fanclub to Boo Radleys, picking at the oversees imports with an avid fervor. They have an equal love for the Antipodean past as well, lapping at The Go-Betweens, The Clean, and Toy Love on just as many occasions.

Their ability to boil down their influences into a record that rides the highs and lows of the fuzz coffers is on full display on Softest Attack. The record seems to take joys in picking out pristine jangles and hummable hooks and then submerging them in an acid bath of froth. Songs sink into the murk and then burst forth; sun and shade in a tug-of-war between the impulses to elucidate and obfuscate. The churning is what drives the record, an engine of inertia that propels the listener through the dozen songs with an ecstatic joy. The band cracked open the door on Out From Underneath, but on Softest Attack, they throw it wide open.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE.