Since Free Energy popped up on the grid a year ago, they've seemed out of place in a good way. No matter how flexible the definition has always been, they are not what you might call an "indie rock" band. It started with the five Philadelphians' first mpfree single last spring, "Dream City". The song is a distinctly American take on glam-boogie that immediately brings to mind teenage imagery: cruising around with friends late at night; inhaling bad beer way before you legally should; bottling the kind of wide-eyed, wild-haired feeling that galvanized Richard Linklater's Dazed and Confused. It has a huge, classic rock hook. It's frothy and light and waxed to a shine. It is both hopelessly hopeful and unabashedly corny. It is also really, really fun.
The rest of Stuck on Nothing, their long-incubating debut full-length, doesn't hold back either. Produced by James Murphy (and released on DFA, his braintrust for New York dance/cool), it's stuffed with equally ham-fisted hooks and melodies, all of which hit their marks without apology or guile. The band (formerly members of the Pavement-worshipping St. Paul, Minn., outfit, Hockey Night) hooked up Murphy simply by sending him demos of all the songs here. Since then, he took them into the studio to flesh everything out. And flesh he did: from cowbell to strings to Hammond to sax, 1970s studio flourishes gussy up all corners of the recording. The guitar sounds are rich and creamy, the bass fat and warm. In a way, Murphy's production work here is such an integral part of the vibe, he comes off as a sixth member of the band. Everything pops, but the gloss never makes the songs here feel processed or too glossy. It simply fits them well.
And the songs are strong, too. From end-to-end, hooks come easy and freely. When the Les Pauls first bite down in opener "Free Energy", it's with purpose. What's most surprising about is how well the album stands on its own two legs, despite the fact that it feels like a rock'n'roll period piece. But if you dig deeper into the heavy of "Bad Stuff" or whir of "Light Love", you can get a sense of how and when these guys likely came across Thin Lizzy records. Namely, through rock touchstones of their youth, like Weezer's Blue Record or even Green Day's Dookie or Pearl Jam's Ten. In that regard, this is classic rock as interpreted by guys who heard those sounds second or third and not first.
Stuck on Nothing feels like a healthy game of Rock Band, just without the console and TV around. Their devotion to the many clichés (see: karate kicks, drumstick twirls, the dueling guitars of highlight "Hope Child" and er, sleeveless tees) is about as firm as frontman Paul Sprangers is to hammering his lyrical M.O. home. He wants to wring the night of everything it's worth. He breezes through a few volumes' worth of conversational, inspirational poesy that's bound to send a few of you into fits of cringe. But, the fact that it's all delivered so un self-consciously is very refreshing. Much the same way kids shoot hoops pretending to be Michael or Kobe or LeBron, these dudes are doing the same with classic rock. And the posing and pastiche sound great.
