It was only a matter of time before Brooklyn-based trio Mixel Pixel gave into the techie connotations of their name and did away with their psychedelic, willfully cheap guitar sound. After all, though 2005's Contact Kid was wracked with twee Beat Happening aspirations, their 2006 follow-up was, if not better produced, at least more sweeping in scope. Taking their arch, druggy songs to the dancefloor on Music for Plants, they seemed to find their footing with minor-key new wave flourishes and electronic textures, embracing their more computerized impulses so as to match the winking artificiality of their droll, acid-friend lyrics. But now, on their fifth effort, they seem to have given up on the guitar altogether.
Well, maybe not altogether-- Rob Corradetti's axe does turn up on most of the 11 tracks on Let's Be Friends, but it always sounds like an afterthought buried in the mix below videogame bleeps and bloops. His guitar melodies either sound like lackadaisical throwaways, as if he is simply noodling absentmindedly under buzzing keyboards, or they are used for brief bursts of feedback and fuzz to aid in the synthesized feel of these wannabe-8-bit songs. It is not coincidence, then, that the album's finest moment is its least electronic. In fact, "Sinking Feeling" isn't just this record's best song, but is also, hands-down, the best Mixel Pixel song yet. Its squishy drum machine rhythms add a propulsive heartbeat underneath the guitar's almost-folk vamp, and though Corradetti is singing in unison with Kaia Wong, this song makes wonderful use of the dissonance between his handsome, dusky delivery and her sweet, babyish coo.
But "Sinking Feeling" aside, most of Let's Be Friends sounds like it was made on a crappy vintage Casio, lazily using the machine’s pre-programmed beats as its foundation. That kind of sparse lap-pop can work, but without catchy vocal hooks to lure listeners in or clever lyrics to keep them attentive, it simply sounds hollow. And sadly, these songs too often feel like excuses for Corradetti and/or Wong to wryly speak-sing hipster shout-outs to their Converse and getting high. When the too-clever or downright silly lyrics are swathed in less barebones synth arrangements, as on the blatant Magnetic Fields homage "Cats", they are less grating or noticeable; the listener can just ignore them and enjoy the sticky-candy melody and astral computerized effects. But those moments are few and far between.
Perhaps what's missing here is a lyrical innocence to match the amateurish synthesizer melodies. After all, if the words were as faux-naïve as the music (or artwork) here suggests, maybe it would read as an overall aesthetic choice, instead of a musical limitation. Mixel Pixel are right to wade in electro textures, but, right now, they aren't quite comfortable enough yet to submerge themselves, so this synth-heavy collection finds them, unfortunately, a little out of their depth.
