Ryan Pollie makes guitar-centric dream pop that recalls the staples of classic rock radio while sticking to his DIY roots. Since debuting under the pseudonym Los Angeles Police Department in 2014, the Philadelphia-born, L.A.-based songwriter has sharpened his California bedroom pop with a breezy country twang, reaching an emotional peak on 2019’s self-titled album under his birth name, which he completed while undergoing chemotherapy. On Stars, his fourth studio album, Pollie expands his musical palette and wades into richly textured psychedelic folk.
Produced entirely by Pollie himself, the sound of Stars is clean and loose. Some songs are grounded by crisp snare hits and bright piano, while others embody the kaleidoscopic haze of late-‘60s Beach Boys records. “The Shore House” borrows the charming whimsy of Magical Mystery Tour, while “On the Nose” is reminiscent of summer nights with the Grateful Dead—so much so that guitarist Rob Dobson’s spot-on Jerry impression could have prompted the song’s title. Inspiration verges on imitation, but Pollie’s interplay between string instruments and brass and woodwind keep things fresh for the duration of the record.
What distinguishes Stars from Pollie’s back catalog is its flirtation with psychedelia. Take, for example, “Steal Away,” a hearty piano jaunt laced with wailing pedal steel notes that spiral under a moody cloud of saxophone and distorted guitar. All of a sudden, a ticking hi-hat breaches a sonic dam, and cascades of jazz horns, folk accents, and prog guitar gush into one another: It is the most astonishing moment on the album. “The Thing,” meanwhile, nosedives into a synth and sax-laden daze that sounds somewhere between Pink Floyd’s “Us and Them” and “Any Colour You Like,” while “Out of It” embraces the shape-shifting surrealism of Syd Barrett’s solo material.
While his experimentation often proves successful, Pollie’s playfulness turns hokey on “Harriton House,” a twee parade of piano, banjo, and a trumpet solo filtered to sound like a kazoo. At best, it’s a charming, off-kilter folk tune. At worst: a ragtime number at a Disneyland restaurant. For the most part, the album makes good use of eccentric instrumentation, although Pollie sounds just as strong without all the bells and whistles. In “Don’t Lie,” the most affecting song here, dreamy vocal harmonies and melancholy acoustic guitar bring out the sadness in his lyrics. “I want you to like me/Reminds me of grade school,” he sings. Pollie’s voice is delicate and wispy, sparking a feeling of wonder that runs through the entire album. Take the talk-sung hooks about marriage in “Best Love I Ever Had” (“I picked out a ring/It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen”) that brim with childlike excitement. Through plunky piano and waves of slide guitar, he squeezes rich emotion out of an otherwise simple song.
Forming a subtle narrative about love and heartbreak, Pollie’s lyrics document the excitement of a blossoming relationship before peeling back his insecurities and expressing sugary devotion. Near the end of the album, he laments a fizzling flame, recounting details like walking the dog on summer days. On the closing track “Market,” he faces the rubble of his romance: “She’d never marry me.” As the story unfolds, Pollie draws a map of pivotal locations, guiding us through the beach where he wants to raise his kids; the third floor of a bar where he used to smoke. But Pollie’s heartfelt conviction suggests that the most meaningful part of the ride is the gentle moments of joy and disappointment scattered along the way.
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