The Ponys must have daydreamt through fifth-grade English class, humming their parents' favorite Stones songs and constructing earthquaking riffs in their heads; they certainly never learned how to pluralize nouns ending in "y." Fortunately, the members of this Chicago quartet are putting the skills they picked up during their rock 'n' roll fantasies to good use these days. Laced with Romance, the group's debut long-player, jubilantly embraces cozily familiar riffs, stylized torrents of fuzzed-out guitars, and giddy, high-tension basslines.
What sets Laced with Romance apart from the abundance of garage-rock albums released over the past few years is its ample possession of groove, by turns big and heavy or loose and sloppy. The record's 12 tracks display a deep understanding of basic rhythm, something direly lacking among the current crop of throwback acts. Ponys drummer Nathan Jerde reliably hammers every backbeat, but the propulsive silence of his ghost notes is what truly drives these songs. Likewise, Melissa Elias' high-register, Adderall-driven basslines provide a sturdy yet pliant foundation upon which Laced with Romance can traipse.
Earnestly enthusiastic and studiously honed, The Ponys are a true anachronism: Rather than shoddily updating a proven style under the artistic aegis of supposed newness, they reiterate classic mod-rock with uncanny accuracy. "Little Friends" is as soulful a song as you're bound to hear from a group of white musicians, while "Fall Inn" spins a classic pop riff with invigorating sincerity. Jered Gummere's vacillating, slyly affected vocals add a slightly punkish edge to the music, which-- despite an unwieldy, live-radio sound-- often leans toward unadulterated pop in Ian Adams' flippant organ melodies. The not-so-subtly self-effacing opener "Let's Kill Ourselves" accomplishes the tricky feat of sounding evasively and ultimately unidentifiably redolent. Eventually, one grows weary of trying to place exactly "where that damn riff comes from," and accepts the song at its immensely pleasurable face value.
The Ponys have also mastered the formula for writing indelible songs that aren't cloying or overtly filched. Despite its unabashedly derivative sound, Laced with Romance is authentic enough in its fossilized antiquity to suffice even the most hardened purist. Moreover, it's ridiculously fun, and a heady reminder of why this brand of straightforward rock never grows old. Sure, for every traumatic high school poet, art school flunky, and lifelong coffeeshop musician, there's a crummy rock band bastardizing the form.
Still, those slipshod groups are what simultaneously help rock achieve importance: If people care enough about something to spend their whole lives being bad at it, there must be something great inspiring all that myopic futility. Laced with Romance will surely contribute to more dross than valuable works like itself; but in doing so, it only affirms rock music's significance. And despite your feelings about the genre and its unending supply of offal, when a record is as galvanizing as this, who really gives a shit about grammar?
