Despite its effusiveness, power pop is a highly conservative genre, favoring a minimum of elements: infectious hooks, tight harmonies, driving tempos, and bittersweet brevity. A very few artists, such as the New Pornographers, can successfully tweak that formula without losing the immediacy of the form, while others, like Fight Songs-era Old 97s, distinguish themselves through their lyrics. But most power pop bands do it just well enough to risk becoming anonymous, following the formula so closely that they neglect to include themselves in their songs.
D.C.'s Julie Ocean, fortunately, does not fall into that last category. They follow the same tried-and-true equation, but drop some unexpected elements-- Shakespeare quotes, French movie references-- into their songs, which they play loud and fast, turning the requisite power-pop sugar rush into something resembling punk intensity. All 1990s indie heroes should age so well: Julie Ocean-- their name comes from an Undertones song-- are headed by Jim Spellman, who played in Velocity Girl and more recently was tasered on CNN. The band itself is something of a D.C. supergroup, featuring ex-Saturday People guitarist Terry Banks, former Severin drummer Alex Daniels, and Weatherhead's Hunter Bennett on bass.
Julie Ocean blows Raspberries to anyone expecting Dischord post-hardcore or some sort of post-rock cheerlessness. After honing their songs on local stages for nearly a year, their debut, Long Gone and Nearly There, hits like a combination punch: quick, jabby, out of nowhere. First out of the gate, "Ten Lonely Words" never sits still, streamlining its busy guitar and wistful lyrics into two quick minutes. "#1 Song" sounds a little more lived in, launches a volley of oohs, aahs, and whoos over the angsty lyrics and an insistent beat. "My Revenge" does, well, the same thing, but it doesn't sound repetitive, thanks to the sharp contrast between the album's brightest harmonies and darkest lyrics.
This momentum-- almost businesslike in its concentration-- continues unabated through the jumpy "At the Appointed Hour", but stops cold on "Here Comes Danny". Sounding like early-90s college pop, it's the weakest track here, but also the longest. They repeat that pulled-punch hook mercilessly and indulge an unnecessarily long guitar solo-- though it seems to want to be the heart of the album, it sounds like a different band. After "Here Comes Danny", Long Gone never quite reaches the same heights, although there are some peaks, like the fidgety "Complications" and the roughed-up closer "Looking at Me/Looking at You". The album clocks in at 25 minutes-- not even that, since they cut off the last guitar chord mid-squeal. That's an abrupt end to a summery genre record whose sure-footed melodies and imaginative economy make it sound urgent and infectious, if not altogether remarkable.
