By Nick Ubels (The Cascade) – Email
Print Edition: October 10, 2012
How can I explain the appeal of Tame Impala?
The first time I encountered the band was at a music festival in Washington state in 2010. My brother and I were doing that thing where you stake out a good spot during the act prior to the one you’re hoping to catch when we saw these four shaggy-looking Aussies take the stage, predictably barefoot.
All I knew about Tame Impala was that they were from Perth and that they dabbled in psychedelic rock. It was a genre that left me seriously sceptical; I’d been burned by one too many critically-lauded psychedelic acts that would supposedly renew my faith yet left me seriously wanting – I’m looking at you, Comets on Fire. The problem with most of these bands is that their varied sonic palette merely acts as a mask for lacklustre song writing and endless, self-indulgent jams.
Tame Impala was different.
We were met with melodic bass lines; propulsive and frantic drumming; hook-conscious guitar riffs drowning in a whirlpool of spacey effects; gripping vocals; rapturous harmony; and an unshakeable groove. I was impressed at their economic, purposeful song writing and their unwillingness to stay in one mode for too long. However insular lead singer Kevin Parker’s lyrics remain, Tame Impala is a band that clearly wants to connect with its audience on a deeply personal level.
It’s a big challenge, but one that Parker pursues with renewed vigour on Lonerism, the follow-up to 2010 debut Innerspeaker. Much like Portland country-rock standard bearers Blitzen Trapper, Tame Impala’s albums are almost entirely composed and recorded by the band’s visionary leader. It’s fitting that Parker’s latest opus, which delves deeper into the personal trials and ecstatic joys of being alone, was crafted in his own home studio.
Lonerism features more personal song writing and a heavier reliance on analog electronics than its predecessor. The confessional vulnerability on tracks like “Why Won’t They Talk To Me?” is aching, refreshingly direct, and entirely relatable. In 52 minutes, the listener is situated in the loner-friendly territory of night time, when it’s easiest to enjoy solitude. The evening starts with the manifesto-like opening “Be Above It,” with its rhythmically whispered slogan “gotta be above it” playing out like the interior monologue of a marathoner, and concludes with the beautiful, off-kilter piano ballad “Sun’s Coming Up,” a striking departure which finds Parker singing in a register an octave lower than usual.
Much of the time, Parker’s Lennon-esque vocals are obscured under layers of spring reverb or noisy analog synths alternately punctuating and sweeping across the tracks. But here, there are rare moments of sparing instrumentation, consisting only of rave-up drums, the chanted manifesto and his vocals.
The only track to closely resemble the Tame Impala last heard on Innerspeaker is single “Apocalypse Dreams,” which sets out with a clear, piano-driven melody in the opening bars. The band almost uniformly abandons the riff-based guitar hooks which drive a lot of the song writing on their debut. The fuzz-pedal heavy, rose-coloured retro stomper “Elephant” is actually one of the album’s weaker tracks, chugging along with a tired blues-based riff that would fit better on a Wolfmother album if it weren’t for the occasional intrusion of compelling syncopated rhythms.
On an album that continues to surprise at each turn, Tame Impala rally back with the sudden high drama of 59-second excerpt “She Just Won’t Believe Me.” It is difficult to find the vocabulary to accurately describe the specific sounds employed or to unpack the dense layers of constantly shifting production of Lonerism. Parker may have pivoted away from the immediacy of earlier work like “Desire Be, Desire Go,” but Tame Impala’s fundamental dedication to melody and song structure within a personal, kaleidoscopic vision is unwavering.
