So, as it turns out, there are different degrees of retro. In her 1964 essay, "Notes on Camp," Susan Sontag pretty much laid the floor plan for the culture industry to make profitable factory-issue kitsch. You can hear the jingle of change today as it's spewed out in the form of 1-800-COLLECT commercials, hideous neon Old Navy vests and the shamelessness of constant movies being remade. And then there's the fixation on all things outmoded, which becomes a sort of retro-fetishism. It's pretty harmless in most forms, just a retread of the corporate ideas of yesteryear; trinket stores that specialize in 50's metal lunchboxes are an eyesore, but they're also an aspect of Americana. The question, then: when does obsession arise? You can't sell something that doesn't have a shared history that people can identify with.
Washington, DC's Barcelona probably understand that. That's why the first song on their new album starts with bubbly Casio keys and the kind of lean, linear drumming that immediately sounds the 80's alarm. But bassist Jennifer Carr's straightforward delivery and cute vocals are bound to bring a wry smile to any former new-waver: "Your friends all wear too much black/ Girls think it's funny he dances like that/ Boys all think he must be strange/ I don't see what they mean.../ Your hair looks like Robert Smith/ Nightclub straps around your wrist."
Most modern synth-pop bands rely on the form New Order perfected, full of smooth transitions and layered electronic sequencing. Barcelona share some of that sophistication, but their simple keyboard sound harkens further back, to the type of unpredictable analog burps and squiggles that populated the music of the Buggles and Thomas Dolby in the early 80's. There are also elements of indie rock in their music, heard in the way their basic song-frames seem built around guitar, bass and drums rather than extended electronic passages.
But here's the catch: each of the four members of Barcelona are computer programmers, and nowhere is this more evident than in the lyrics. "Bugs" begins with a gleeful little keyboard melody and guitarist Jason Korzen's vocals, which aren't nearly as endearing as Carr's. He repeats the song title a bunch of times along with the chorus, "But I've got a plan/ If you'd only hold my hand/ We'll make this through." That's new wave for you-- dull double-meanings. The bugs could be computer- or relationship- related. Yes, we get it.
"Electronic Company" opens with some Kinks-esque guitar chords and Korzen's geek fantasy: "With your hardware, you're almost new/ With my eyes closed, you're almost human." You'll catch a friend tapping their foot to the beat, but how many will really identify with, "Given the choice, I'd choose electronic company/ No pain, no hassles, just electricity?" "Obsoletion" shows an introspective side of Barcelona with a downbeat groove that would sound at home on a Peter Murphy record. The verse-trading boy-girl harmony here gets your head nodding, until you hear the lyrics: "My friends are so unfashionable/ My friends are models from last year/ My friends have strange addictions/ I'm always wishing they would leave." The kids' assertion in the chorus that this is "just another way to speak of obsoletion" doesn't satisfy. Are they being brave here? Or do they not have any friends they care to keep?
That question is partially answered on one of the album's better songs, "Paging System Operator." Korzen tells the story of himself at 13, just a hacker looking for direction. He finds a pirated copy of "EA Winter Games" and dials up the guy who pirated it at his BBS (a precursor to the Internet, where your computer rung up another personal computer). He's seeking guidance, so he creates a chat room to page the guy. You don't find songs about meetings in primitive pre-cyberspace often. It ends in a sort of self-reflective, mirrored moment: on the other end, it's just another 13-year-old hacker.
The problem with this album is appeal: new wave kids obsessed with obsolete tech and rhythm sections that sound like early Cure tracks aren't going to sell that many records. But Barcelona are like any great local band-- they'll keep playing their cute songs with studied indifference, perfectly comfortable in their retro world. Or maybe, as Carr suggests on one song, they'll "have to bring your server down." But that's the revenge central to so many 80's movies: you eventually develop sympathy for the nerd. Sometimes they even work their way into your heart.
