There was a brief moment in the 90s when every indie-rock guitar in the Pacific Northwest seemed to have dimples. Fuzz distortion was suddenly as threatening as the fur on a baby chick, and two lead guitars didn't duel so much as squiggle playfully alongside each other, creating exuberant, but manageable, finger-painted messes. It was a time of bands like Built to Spill and the Spinanes, whose drummer Scott Plouf played with a patient, graceful thump that signaled the scene's genial lack of urgency and whose last name was an onomatopoeia for his style: A soft-pedaled plosive, a polite exhalation, a cumulus cloud clearing its throat.
The Brooklyn band Grooms are a floating piece of mid-90s Portland, serenely bobbing in the shoals of the 2010s indie world. This has been their function ever since 2010's Rejoicer, an album immune to talking points and sturdily replayable even today. Their third album, Infinity Caller, feels like just as much of a welcome tonic to the squabbling Now conversation as ever, which means they are very, very good at what they do.
Grooms don't just humbly steward indie-rock nostalgia into our laps like pizza-delivery guys, though. The reason their music is comforting is because the band sounds so, well, comfortable: Grooms have been playing together since before they were even Grooms, and went by the name Muggabears. By now their assured interplay is a joy in itself. Their guitars tangle and pull apart like kite strings, and the drums hit with a gentle splash (or maybe a "plouf") rather than a crack. From the very first watercolor glimmers of guitar on "Lion Name", the bass nudging carefully forward and elbowing lead singer Travis Johnson's Peanuts yelp to the forefront, Infinity Caller announces itself: You can relax, this will be easy on everyone.
This is one of their most fully realized albums, something longtime fans will delight in discovering. Bassist Emily Ambruso's vocal turns (lead on "Iskra Goodbye," prominent backing on "Sometimes Sometimes" and many others) have darkened and grown more distinctive and interesting, making her a welcome and equal counterpoint to Johnson. Their songwriting also has developed into something sharper, less atmospheric and blobby. "Play" pivots on a pedal tone, allowing it to swing gracefully between major and minor, and "I Think We're Alone Now" has one of their stickiest choruses.
It's a minor music-writing cliché to observe that a derivative band "sound more like themselves" with each passing release, but if Grooms still don't quite sound like some platonic ur-Grooms, standing on their own and beholden to no one-- or something-- they do sound like a more fully realized and sharply etched iteration of the indie-rock they clearly love. Their lyric and song titles stir echoes in a way that feels intentional and even playful -- they have a song called "Something I Learned Today" in addition to the one called "I Think We're Alone Now", and on "Completely", Johnson sings "I never was the name of the pacifist one" with a cadence and phrasing that brings the non-sequitur reference "Ballroom Blitz" to mind. They know they remind you of that band, whatever that band is, and have some sly fun confusing your memories of exactly which band it is.
To be perfectly honest, the lyric quoted above might be inaccurate. I didn't even check with the publicist. It might be "blasphemous one," or even "pessimist one." But the truth is that it doesn't quite matter; the song nudges Johnson's voice down the same lazy river of guitars. It's hard to get worked up about specifics when in a reclining position, and Infinity Caller invites you to grab a Koozie and float on.
