There's a lot about Washington D.C.'s The Cassettes that you can discern from the incidental details of their second, self-titled album. Two items in particular stand out: The whimsical, childlike art, and the liner notation that indicates the lyrics to "Ghost in a Lost World" were penned by Sandra Davis in 1968, when she was a scant nine years old. As much appeal as these unabashedly sunny touches have in the era of Joe Millionaire, they land the band in a void between effortless success and simply trying too hard.
For a good example of the band's soul, look no further than the aforementioned "Ghost in a Lost World". Though neither the best nor worst track on the record, it manages to bring together all the tendencies that sneak into the other songs in less obvious ways. The lyrics-- again, by prepubescent poet Davis-- are full of haunted little kid images that were Stephen King clichés long before they were rehashed in The Ring. Lines like, "The people are strange creatures/ They do not smile," and, "The place they live is just like a blank space on a piece of paper," are mildly spooky, but only when they come from the mouths of single-digit babes. Hearing head Cassette Shelby Cinqa sing them is about like watching a forty-year old porn actress try to pass herself off as barely legal, and it lacks that scenario's tarnished payoff. With vapid acoustic strumming that gets jiggy with nothing, and singing that contains all the passion of a recipe for bran muffins, Cinqa turns this presumably heartfelt gesture bathetic faster than you can turn off your roommate's copy of August and Everything After.
The Cassettes give the impression of being swell people, and they're at least competent, but it's difficult to cheer for them as much as one might like, due to their fetish for the generic. Cinqa-- sounding eerily like Spin Doctors frontman Chris Barron-- is nowhere near as exceptional as he needs to be to lead a band. He's constructed a warm, lazy sound, lacquering his guitar with a healthy dose of distortion and flange, but his parts are so flavorless that, beneath the wash of effects, it's hard to hear what rhythm he's playing, or even when he's changing chords. The ensuing wall of fuzz is only slightly more compelling than radio static, and since everyone can get that for free, it's natural to wonder what segment of the market the Cassettes thought they might capture.
The Cassettes sounds like it's trying to establish a trademark sound rather than explore the limits of artistic expression, which is a wasted effort leading only toward easy and dismissive pegging. On a few aberrant cuts-- most notably the jazzy "Alright with the Days"-- they show real inspiration and craftsmanship. It's discouraging how ghettoized they are, but at the very least, some bright moments show the group doesn't have to lift all their ideas from nine-year-olds.
