Some albums only seem appropriate when the earth's tilted a certain way. All winter I steeped myself in atmospheric gloom, but things change, and now a band has come along and brightened everything up for me. The indie kids are walking in the park, casting fey glances at one other, tugging shyly at their faded pastel-colored t-shirts. La femme d'argent surveys the scene with a bemused smile hidden behind a copy of Le Monde, while the rocker dude slouches by, trying to peer over her sunglasses. And for once, all this doesn't make me sick, because I've got Saloon playing in my headphones, too.
Saloon are a five-piece from Reading, England. Their debut, (This Is) What We Call Progress, is an auspicious record that basically soundtracks this blossoming season. For those of you in the southern hemisphere, the upbeat chords and crisp drums on "Plastic Surgery" will kick-start spring back into action. Everyone's strumming to the chirps of the Moog keyboard and the fair voice of Amanda Gomez. She has one of those sweet, mundanely pretty voices, and it suits the breezy melody well. "Le Weekend" begins with a bassline bouncing merrily and light keyboard crests, then the instruments all swell together, guitars squealing wildly and just as soon settling down again. It's cute without being twee, and makes for great sunny-day driving music.
This band writes smart little indie-pop songs, and they always seem to know where they're going. "Girls Are the New Boys," for instance, begins simply. Gomez' voice coasts over the galloping drum crashes as she coolly intones, "So this is the new world/ Just like the other one." But after the chorus and verse, the song extends into a sidelong jam that would have the boy with the Arab Strap swaying to and fro. On a more quiet front, "2500 Walden Ave" floats along on an almost feathery lightness. The rhythm section swells with strains of guitar, cello and melodica, carrying the song gently while avoiding the overly sentimental. Gomez layers backing vocals over the track, creating an ethereal effect similar to the shimmery, subdued breaks on Stereolab's Dots and Loops.
There's substance beyond the cheery melodies in their world, though. "Bicycle Thieves" is a slice of fragile introspection drifting through the intricate pulse of the bass and guitar. "I'm a frightened spider in your mouth/ You're too frightened to speak and let me out," sings Gomez, backed by an achingly sad viola. Michael Smoughton lets loose one of the slow, solemn trumpet swells that grace a few of Progress' songs, always at the penultimate moment. "Across the Great Divide" builds more aggressively, churning forward with thick guitars and strings, its protagonists caught in the slow-motion torture of a long-distance relationship. An instrumental section follows, just humming drone and ringing glockenspiel and the high-pitched call of a theremin, leaving the listener stranded in the divide with no sense of resolution.
Even these melancholy songs share a warm, sympathetic vibe. Fans of Belle and Sebastian, Broadcast and Tyro will no doubt enjoy. If there's a fault here, it's with the sound of the disc itself: (This Is) What We Call Progress plays as if mastered at a muted level, and you have to keep turning up the volume to hear the details. Maybe we can shift the blame to Mahogany mainman Andrew Prinz, who produced the album. But unlike Cruiser, whose Northern Electric suffered a similar fate, Saloon's low fidelity adds to the delicate aesthetic of their works. It's like the spring, caught between the cold of winter, with ravenous summer approaching.
