“Nerve”, which opens the debut album by Do Nothing, is tuneful, thoughtful and ever-so-slightly wonky indie pop that prods and pokes but never really goes any further than a suggestion of danger. Comfort zone indie pop, if you will.
The glammy, sloppy strut of “Happy Feet” kicks the pace up but tones down the emotional pull of the opener – and for most of the track singer Chris Bailey is a dead ringer for Hamilton Leithauser. In fact, the band end up as dead ringers for The Walkmen for most of the album – either by design or by accident, it’s an approach that works for them.
“Moving Target” is another song that benefits from Do Nothing’s considered, thoughtful mode. It’s not a million miles from songs that even end up on the radio – for example, you can imagine it being a hit for a George Ezra or even a Coldplay. It’s in that ballpark.
There are other highlights here – from the rugged stompalong “Amoeba” to the frantic post-punk of “The Needle” – and there aren’t any songs that you would feel comfortable taking off the album to make it more streamlined or cohesive. Everything here works, but that’s hardly great praise.
Of course, we’ve been here – or hereabouts – before, countless times now. We’re still yet to fully experience Honeyglaze or Geese or The Lounge Society or Courting and we’ve already enjoyed Omni and Ought and Sports Team and Pottery, and who can forget Public Practice? The world appears to be full of fantastic post-punk-adjacent indie bands who try their very best to ascend to an undefinable peak (being it monetary or otherwise) but never quite make the level of an Interpol or a Fontaines D.C. Or even The Walkmen.
Do Nothing stand just about as good a chance as any of those guys of making it to the Big Time, so here’s hoping that they neither burn out nor fade away before they get there.
