Nedelle and Thom: Summerland

Every once and a while life gets so out of control that we fantasize about returning to the “simpler days”, the times when either youth or blissful ignorance sheltered us from all our perceived problems, or the years before some pivotal epoch like college, marriage, or terrorism. Scholars call this a “declensionist narrative”, while I like to call it deluded historical reconstruction. On the other hand, this breed of knee-jerk nostalgia is something of a fact of human nature and a subject ripe for the thoughtful musings of able post-pop songwriters, and so we have Nedelle and Thom’s debut Summerland, a meandering and wistful journey into the heartland of the human psyche in post-apocalyptic America. Inspired by the squeaky clean soul tunes of Motown’s girl groups and self-confessed idolaters of Dionne Warwick, these veteran songsmiths have pushed through an album so bare, so uncompromising, and so stunningly familiar it is not unlike being transported into the picket fenced-in world of mid-20th century America. Only, upon arrival, one cannot help but ask if this is really the place to be any longer, if perhaps we have matured past our petty infatuations with unattainable dreams.

If you’re looking for a colorful fusion album that explodes like a voluminous cornucopia of variegated timbres, you’re looking in the wrong place. Summerland is as monochromatic as the 1950s suburbs it seems to have taken as its inspiration; the only color to be found is in the occasionally jazzed up vocals and a meandering walking bass figure. What the material lacks in breadth, it makes up for in depth, employing the most basic songwriting techniques of Tin Pan Alley and crafting them to perfection. Nedelle and Thom have an almost diabolical understanding of popular song form, and their seamless changes, lush harmonies, and buoyant melodies recall the naked beauty of Carol King’s reworking of her own teen queen pop material. Songs like “Care for Me” have a sort of timeless quality that is created, not by the more contemporary method of over-production, but rather by employing subtle time and tempo changes and a simple, soulful melody that takes the listener by surprise. On “It’s Up to You”, the instrumentation seems so completely stripped that every guitar strum and drum beat feels calculated, eliciting a remarkable tension reminiscent of the elder statesman of pop Phil Specter, only without all the extra reverb (or the gun-toting insanity, for that matter).

Occasionally, the album not only verges on greatness, but takes it by the throat, as with the song “Cute Things”, which is not nearly so cute as the title makes it sound. The tune is a surprisingly raucous and original romp through all that makes post-modern pop music great. Nedelle pens a melody that plays with her own self-styled image, with vocals that illustrate both her strength as a mature vocalist and her vulnerability as a wistful pre-pubescent wanna-be. The melody plays hopscotch up and down the scale, dipping perilously low and soaring to ecstatic heights, while bright harmonies add substance and depth to what turns out to be a swelling storm of humorously ironic and darkly subtle lyrical poetry. Again, the duo take full advantage of tempo changes and their arsenal of pop music know-how to craft a song that is almost too big for its britches, a chart-topper in the making if only they could shed their lackadaisical edenic obsession.

Their pint-sized posture is, however, what ruins the album for me. At some point the Peter-Pan Syndrome is overpowering, and the two start looking less like well meaning troubadours searching for truth in the eyes of a child and more like creepy grown-ups luring children off the playgrounds and into their bedrooms. While some of the lyrics are fresh, darkly ironic, and whimsical, most are fatuous odes to pre-adolescent narcissism and sickening tales of infatuation. The better songs can be forgiven for their amateurish performance, but the cute little bumbling brother and sister act begins to appear farcical after not very long, and certain tracks simply cry out for a nice raunchy guitar solo or even the slightest backbeat. If the album seems irrelevant at all, it isn’t because of its Motown roots, but rather its insufferable naïveté, which is ultimately the problem with nostalgia — not that we don’t understand it or know how to enjoy it, but that we’ve grown to realize we can’t live in Summerland forever. Nedelle and Thom’s first album is an excellent testimony to their budding talent, featuring some truly inspired songwriting. Hopefully, they can leave their elementary school daze behind and play something for us grown-ups.