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When trying to review a CD, the writer is encouraged to approach the music as a singular, isolated creation — freeing his or herself from expectation based on the band’s previous work and getting ready for anything. I have always found this method inherently flawed. Nobody listens to music that way. How many times have you bought a record solely because you liked the band’s earlier songs, only to be disappointed that they “lost their sound” or “sold out” — ahem, Kings of Leon? It’s a disservice to the reader to act like the band never existed before some new record, so let’s talk about dreamy poppers Beach House and their new album “Teen Dream” with a little bit of context.
On their 2006 self-titled debut and 2008 follow-up “Devotion,” Baltimore’s Beach House brought dreary mid-winter pop songs with a certain feeling of mysticism about them. Those songs were highly personal and found lead singer Victoria Legrand singing to disappointing lovers you never know or about strained companions you never see. Each song was a confessional — a brief lament on some unfortunate event in Legrand’s life that could find a broader audience only by the clever trick of masking the other characters.
2010 finds Beach House releasing an album for Sub Pop, the record company that catapulted bands like Nirvana and Death Cab for Cutie to stardom. Something was bound to change now that they were playing in the semi-bigger leagues, and predictably “Teen Dream” is Beach House’s pop album. Opener “Zebra” kicks things into gear with a simple guitar line marching toward a big, catchy chorus with wispy harmonies and splashing cymbals. The faceless “you’s” and “we’s” are still there, but they’re sung with such earnestness, it’s as if Legrand forces you to understand. The following track, and my personal favorite, “Silver Soul” maintains Legrand’s effort to open up and reflects the mission statement found in the record’s title. Over electro-organ and fuzzy guitar, Legrand makes pained, repeated calls of “It is happening again.” We may know nothing of the person she is singing to, but what’s more universal than teenage dread that everything is wrong and continues to get worse? You don’t have to figure out every situation Legrand describes or the occasionally cryptic lyricism to get it.
Despite Legrand’s angst in “Walk in the Park,” the bouncy keys and the swirling string backdrop make it seem like a stroll past the ice rink one January night. Similarly, “Used to Be” trots along with joyful tambourine slaps and simple saloon-style piano, all while Legrand worries over inevitable change. With its wimpy drum machine beat and repetitive synth line, “Love of Mine” is markedly ’80s without being cheesy or relying on vintage. The slow build of “Real Love” and the efforts Legrand makes to get her impressively deep voice up a few notches gives a particularly sentimental feel, culminating in her most sobering line, “Real love, it finds you somewhere with your back to it.”
“Take Care” puts a fitting period on the end of “Teen Dream.” Over the nine songs prior, Legrand says, “I know what you’ve been through, and believe me, it sucks.” Beach House are humanistic, and above all, empathetic. The chorus of “Take Care” goes, “I’d take care of you / if you’d ask me to / in a year or two.” The line is generous though ultimately more honest for its ambiguity. If you can’t cry right on Legrand’s shoulder then at least you can mope around with “Teen Dream” coming out your speakers.
Grade: A
