This year’s Cherry Red boxset Scared to Get Happy: A Story of Indie-Pop 1980-1989 served as a reminder, in case you needed one, that “indie-pop” is a genre, in historical terms: the ragtag, individualistic style of melodic guitar-pop that grew out of post-punk in the UK. In 2013, indie-pop in one sense still means bands rooted in that sound and its offshoots, in the C86 scene, Sarah Records, etc. It’s also bands and scenes from the U.S. and elsewhere, associated with their own somewhat unrelated DIY scenes/movements leaning pop—meaning, in a sense, directed away from the macho/agro trappings of rock, but often using the same instruments.
This year, “indie-pop” was used by publications (including this one) as a descriptor for all types of music that I wouldn’t think of that way, from the pseudo-folk glee of the Lumineers to the cutesy affected music in Target ads. It’s become a catch-all descriptor of cute indie-ish music.
My personal definition of indie-pop is a mix of the historical one and a more intuitive sense for what feels like “pop” within the world of relatively non-corporate, home-crafted “indie” music. A focus on melody and harmony is a baseline trait, but I also find myself drawn to music with a sense of melancholy about the world, even within sentiments that are surface-level happy. Also, it’s music that conveys to listeners a feeling of intimacy, an impression of open-heartedness, of personalization—an approach which often pairs well with the daydreams of obsessive music fans (yes, so often indie-pop can be music about music). To use a phrase from the top album on this list, it can feel like “secret music” meant for our ears only, and at the same time like we’re being pulled into a community.
In some ways, this insularity and the aesthetics of indie-pop can be seen as reactionary. A type of response to the dominant goings-on in the world—war, corporatization, speed, narcissism, fashion. That can manifest itself in engagement sometimes, but perhaps more often in escape into a comforting embrace of sounds and melodies. Slowness, gentleness, sensitivity aren’t necessarily valued by the dominant culture.
This year’s batch of albums seems in some ways obsessed with the elemental things, with human relationships, the matter that makes up the world around us—light, air, the sun and moon—and the ways the two poetically relate within us. The heart-weather connection, perhaps.
Putting all 117 song titles in a row shows several common threads in titles alone; shared interests in hearts (“My Heart Beats”, “Check My Heart”, Our Hearts Beat Out Loud), in asking direct questions of another (“What Took You So Long?”, “Would You Be There?”, “Are You Kissing Anyone?”), and in the changing seasons (“Into the Sun”, “In the Winter Sun”, “Summer Rain”, “Seasons Change”, “Feel Winter”). Musically, those obsessions lead not just to tenderness and beauty, but also a sort of elegant, well-dressed, sophisticated minimalism.
One of a few bands on this list that comes from an earlier era, the UK band the Proctors last released an album in 1995, with a slightly different lineup. Their sound gives it away maybe—this type of dreamy guitar-pop isn’t as in fashion today. What’s remarkable about Everlasting Light isn’t just that they play a particular, somewhat familiar style very well—it’s that for about an hour these songs erase all notions of influence and familiarity from our brains, dropping us into an immersive, tuneful place where someone is singing softly to us about love, often in a deceptively optimistic way that soothes us even as we know everything is wrong.
Young smart asses from Kansas City, singing about xannies, Television, Machete, record stores, and friends with more highfalutin’ jobs—and doing it in a hyper-melodic, hyper-friendly way. It’s pop-rock that’s giddy and at the same time self-deprecating, an approach they instigated on their 2011 debut Stona Rosa, but elevate on this, their sophomore album. As upbeat as they make indecision sound, they also aren’t afraid to slow down and expose fragility, always with a certain amount of tongue in cheek. They also aren’t afraid to mess around with standard guitar-band formulas, like on their disco-ish, fake-Barry-White-looking “Lover Yeah”, which ends the album.
8Jim Ruiz Set
Mount Curve Avenue
Fourteen years since his last album, Jim Ruiz returns with a reconfigured group, now Jim Ruiz Set instead of the Legendary Jim Ruiz Group. Yet that gap, with the re-emergence of his musical persona, makes it feel just as legendary, or more so. This third album falls in line with the other two, which means his approach to pop is a bit eclectic, with jazzy leanings and the 1960s hanging in the air, musically, along with a couple vehicles more representative of the ‘70s (“Volkswagon Vanagon”, “Schwinn Continental”). It’s a romantic album, in atmosphere and demeanor, even while one of its chief subjects is the dissolution of love.
Waiting for Something to Happen
Perhaps the closest to a proper rock band on this list, Veronica Falls nonetheless deal in snappy melodies and harmonies that hide an immense interest in human frailty and hurt. Their second album finds a certain romance in disillusionment and despair, in people who see themselves as broken toys, who feel like they should be buried alive. Roxanne Clifford’s voice in particular carries those feelings almost no matter what’s she singing. At the same time, the band plays these songs as inclusive anthems, asking the audience to bask in feeling the same way.
6Amor de Días
The House at Sea
The graceful, underrated collaboration between indie-pop heroes Alasdair Maclean (the Clientele) and Lupe Núñez-Fernández (Pipas) continues in a patient, dedicated way on their second album The House at Sea. That title image is a central one from an album filled with images of the sea, the sun, the air, rain, and wind. There’s a sense of loss, of fading away, within these songs, but also sensory experiences, of the way our surroundings influence, and are refracted through, our mood. The sensory side comes through too in the sounds of guitar strings and their voices, in the pleasure they take in bittersweet melodies and words.
// Sound Affects
"The man whose songs were recorded by Johnny Cash, Alan Jackson, Ricky Skaggs, David Allan Coe, The Highwaymen, and countless others succumbs to time’s cruel cue that the only token of permanence we have to offer are the effects of shared moments and memories.READ the article