Pure Bathing Culture is a band that's steeped in the past, though the enduring effect of their debut Moon Tides is one of disorientation rather than nostalgia. Encounter any of its nine tracks, and “what year is this?” is a question asked with genuine befuddlement, not sarcasm. Their entire presentation-- the band name, the album title, the aquamarine cover, Sarah Versprille and Daniel Hindman relocating from Brooklyn to Portland-- instantly recalls pure blogging culture, something from the deadbeat summer of 2009. Then you take into account Versprille's dreamcatcher lyrics, which namedrop pentacles and wizened wanderers and push the 60s Laurel Canyon pop they’ve explored as part of Vetiver into the cocaine 70s. But Moon Tides is also rife with 80s signifiers that range from Cocteau Twins to Benny Mardones. The fact that this all goes on at the same time rather than piece by piece ensures Moon Tides actually coheres, but the underlying songs are so fetching and statuesque that you wonder why Pure Bathing Culture feels the need to play thrift store dress up.
“Pendulum” makes it easier to take the necessary widescreen approach, an instantly alluring song that gets very confusing under close examination. Its main progression is rigid and bold, a descending three-chord riff you could seriously hear in a classic rock song if it wasn’t being played on pliable acoustic guitars that evoke the citric scent of a Mediterranean coast rather than funnel cake at the county fair. Versprille's lyrics somehow combine palatial Europe and cornpone Americana by getting deep into Ren Faire symbolism-- "You're the cat's eye/ You're the pendulum/ When the orator says it's your time/ You're the one." Those are the lines that her piercing vocals allow you to hear, but by the time it gets to the chorus, her words lapse into an amorphous, swooning gesture while the whole thing gets liquefied by wet reverb. Richard Swift produces it to feel like a sudden, sloppy tongue kiss and you appreciate how the words attempted to set the mood, but it was all prelude to the physical expression.
The dynamic between the wobbly production and the sturdy songwriting defines Moon Tides, though I wouldn’t say it causes any tension. Conflict is clearly something avoided within the tenets of Pure Bathing Culture. But it does result in a listening experience that causes more ambivalence than it probably should. You wonder if the herbal essence is compromised by the clarity of the melodies and lyrics, or vice versa, whether the disparate artistic impulses detract from each other rather than amplify each other’s qualities. When Moon Tides hits right, it has the consistency of a Jello shot-- simultaneously solid and gooey, warm and transportive, Versprille's acidic tone giving it a tart aftertaste.
By the same token, when the balance is off or your mood is not compatible, the whole affair can remind you it’s a pretty chintzy way to have a good time. If you had to pinpoint an era where Pure Bathing Culture truly feels at home, it’s the 80s and not necessarily the indie rock 80s. Those conditioned to hear the 4AD influences in any breathy, reverbed synth-pop can trace the Kate Bush and Cocteau Twins effect, particularly the latter-- the drum machines on Moon Tides are no more technologically advanced than those on Treasure and though it’s a little too easy to make out the content of lyrics like "Sea-slicked symboled wants for more/ He draw's the Raven's card," the effect is similar to Elizabeth Fraser in setting an overarching mood of mysticism and a non-erotic sensuality.
But there’s a sneaking suspicion that Pure Bathing Culture are secretly repping for the kind of music made by millionaires to whom MTV was not kind during the Reagan era. The palm-muted guitar figures of closer “Temples of the Moon” make a serious pass at “Boys of Summer”, though it just reminds you of the vast difference between Don Henley’s idea of a “demo-sounding” cut and everyone else’s. Meanwhile, there’s a strange dissonance between the nonsensical or impenetrable narrative of “Scotty” and its 8-bit quiet storm arrangement. Until you realize it’s a three-minute segue into a coda taken straight from "Into The Night"; fortunately, it's the chorus, not the part that goes "She's just 16 years old/ 'Leave her alone' they say." Are they trying to show artistic kinship? Irony? Either way, Benny Mardones' lyrics become the most straightforward and earnest on Moon Tides and it's a little unsettling.**
You end up wondering how this presentation appeals to Pure Bathing Culture, whether they’re one of the many indie acts who think a lo-fi, homemade rendering of an expensive-sounding genre “fixes” it or if it’s just a reflection of their current recording budget and studio acumen. What are their goals? Do they avoid polishing "Pendulum" and "Scotty" to a diamond-bright glare because they fear backlash or studio bills? Or none of the above? This sort of culture clash does have its charm, but in light of the professionalism, slickness and ambition that allows bands like Chvrches and Haim to have real-deal hits, you realize when it comes to appropriating megabucks 80s pop, greed is good.
