The most remarkable thing about “Ringer” is its E Pluribus Unum factor. Probably more than anything else in recent memory, the title track from the latest Four Tet EP weaves itself together from forgotten bits and blips and and pieces and plunks, any one of which seems like it might have fallen off a cheap Nokia if taken in isolation. But digital wunderkind Kieran Hebden’s aesthetic sensibility had him working on officially sanctioned Radiohead remixes by his early 20s, and here it weld the disparate blobs together into a whole that makes you forget the fact that you’ve been listening to the same three notes in the soprano line all along. At ten minutes long, it’s obviously guilty of the cardinal DJ sin of stating every last phrase in powers of four, but right when I’m about to lose interest for good those drums kick in and carry it through the last two minutes. After spending several excruciating years with a cell phone more or less strapped to my face, I’m finally thinking about changing my ringtone.

In an interview with Holly Golightly back when I was working on a zine (i.e. the analog blogs), she said that she didn’t like so much of what was currently called “garage” rock because it had none of the spontaneity and d.i.y. disposability of the original idea of a few friends with a few chords pooling their lunch money for a limited run 7” single.  I think “Shalalalalove”  by the egregiously named Sonic Chicken 4 captures all the sloppy, playful propulsion of garage rockers like the Mummies with the added confection of having a Mo Tucker soundalike slipping in to drop sweet refrains on top of power chords that have demolition derbied into one another.  Especially golden are those pop primal nonsense sounds in the chorus,  “shalalala”, so close to those first attempts we all have at grappling with language (a.k.a.,  getting what we want):  “baba”, “dada”, “mama”.  Yes, the secret to a great song is simply artful infantalization.  I’m kidding, but I do think this songs secrets have everything to do with having no guile, pouring sugary guy-girl interplay on scuffed guitar and having a chorus that inspires infectious Muppet-dance energy.