I can’t tell you much about Lace Curtains. They’ve been around for a few years now on a little label called Female Fantasy and Michael Coomers (the only member of the band who seemingly exists in press circles) was vaguely famous before this for being in a quite good band out of Austin, Texas – called, confusingly Harlem.
What makes his/their new album great is it’s refusal to tie itself to one specific approach. While the reference points are clear – a deadpan delivery somewhere between Lou Reed and Dave Dave Berman; and a solid grasp of 70’s alt pop, 80’s funk and 90’s slacker rock – this album pivots and turns, each track showing a different shade. There’s top quality songwriting here and while there’s some way to go to meet the standards of say, Silver Jews, there’s enough promise in this album to send it strolling nonchantly -it’s far too cool to run- into my 12 plays.
It opens with the one of my favourite tracks of the year. With its elegant organ opening, sardonic wit and shuffle beat, The Fly is a pop song that itches at your brain, refusing to be forgotten, nudging for replay after replay:
While it still aches with pop sentiment Wilshere and Fairfax is a different speed. It’s a unlikely, and lovely, lament to Biggie Smalls that made me smile at its unexpectedness:
Lastly, there should always be room for Be Good in your life. It’s a story of a long-distance friendship, of nostalgia for what once was, of remembering to be good:
If I were you, I’d grab this album from the ever brilliant bandcamp.