Hanoi Janes is the one-man project of Oliver Scharf, who hails from outside Dresden, Germany, but his clangorous full-length debut seems to have erupted directly from the same smelly, half-condemned Bushwick warehouse that gave the world Vivian Girls and caUSE co-MOTION!. Year of Panic comes to the world via Brooklyn's Captured Tracks label, home to all things gleefully lo-fi and amateurish, and even in a scene that celebrates goofy awkwardness, Scharf's enthusiasm stands out. His one-to-two minute songs bristle with energy, and he doesn't so much play as hurl them, like a happy toddler bouncing toys off a wall. This relentlessly upbeat spirit, plus an effortless way with melody, helps make Year of Panic one of the most ingratiating half-hours of lo-fi pop of the year.
Perhaps because he's assembling all the pieces himself, Scharf's crash-pop ditties are surprisingly intricate-- songs that rush by at first as a primary-color blur turn out to be a busy little tangle of moving parts. He loves weird sounds, and his songs prickle with detail; "Summer of Panic" and "Crystal Veins" are repeatedly attacked by swarms of wiggling B-movie lasers, while "Our Lives" switches out guitars for a ukulele. "The Boys Are Out" breaks down less than 30 seconds into its length into a small traffic jam of noises-- bleating guitars, a hummingbird hi-hat pulse, an anchoring bass line-- and it's like watching a galloping processional of Keystone Kops.
As a songwriter, Scharf seems to think only in hooks, which is part of the reason he's able to sustain this madcap energy for Year of Panic's duration. Separate any song into its individual elements and you'll find yourself holding a handful of wriggling earworms. The hyperactive descending keyboard riff of "Bad Attitude", for example, is infectious enough for most songwriters to call it a day, but Scharf's just getting started: toss in some chugging power chords, a jigging bassline, an unexpected key change and breakdown, and two killer vocal melodies and you've got his idea of "enough." Year of Panic overflows with this kind of manic generosity. Chalk it up to some lo-fi pop version of "colonial fever," but Scharf's ambition and spirit burns brighter than a lot of his Stateside contemporaries, and his debut is as joyfully immediate as it is compulsively replayable.
