Deerhunter is one of the most fascinating bands going because they're a democracy functioning the way most of us experience democracy, whether in politics or the workplace: fully participatory, but with a wildly disproportionate power structure. With Bradford Cox fronting the group as one of rock's most dominant personalities, it's easy to view Lockett Pundt as following in the lineage of reclusive guitar wizards who serve as a necessary counterbalance. Whether or not Cox goes off the grid any given night, you can catch Pundt standing catatonically still and staring off into the distance when his gaze isn't intently focused on an armada of effects pedals.
Based on that persona, no one could've been surprised by his solo bow as Lotus Plaza, 2009's The Floodlight Collective. A mélange of looped guitar and amorphous vocals slathered in amniotic goo, it wouldn't have stood out in any year, and released smack dab in the midst of indie's deadbeat summer, it was the kind of solo record that could only be the result of a guy who goes to the greatest lengths possible to not get noticed. But even if he gets approximately 0% of the good quotes in any Deerhunter interview, the relatively egalitarian division of the band's songwriting labor makes Spooky Action At A Distance every bit as unsurprising as its predecessor. In an infinitely more rewarding way, of course: save for a minute-long intro that recalls Floodlight, these are nine reminders that Pundt also is responsible for soft-focus beauty of "Agoraphobia", "Neither of Us, Uncertainly", and the juggernaut centerpiece of Halcyon Digest, "Desire Lines". This consistency means Spooky Action lacks the galvanizing force of Deerhunter and the unpredictability of Atlas Sound, but in fully realizing its comparatively modest ambitions, it's one of the strongest indie rock records of the year so far.
Comparing how Cox and Pundt function in their solo ventures tempts a needless quarterback controversy, but nonetheless, it is helpful to see how they're complementary. While Atlas Sound allows Cox to indulge in genres, collaborations, and haircuts that wouldn't vibe with Deerhunter, Pundt tends to find inspiration in limitations, patterns and forms. Pundt prefers echoing guitar, slow-moving vocal melodies, and distorted washes that generally signify qualifiers like "shoegaze" and "dream-pop," but neither of those really sit well with me. The "dream" part implies exaggeration or illogic, while nearly all of Spooky Distance is handcrafted, thriving on structure and restraint-- a constant, kraut-like pulse, strict patterns of verses and choruses broken down into repeating chord progressions, loops, loops, and more loops.
Moreover, along the lines of Real Estate and especially the War On Drugs, Pundt embodies a wakeful, meditative state associated with various forms of transit: your physical being stays relatively still while being in motion, a symbiosis between human and mechanical effort. I can't help but think of each song here as having some sort of vehicular spirit animal, so to speak. As with "Desire Lines", the anti-flash "solo" that breaks from the casually soaring chorus of "Strangers" could be visually represented as medians on a deserted open road, and the anticipatory effect of its repetition brings the relief of arrival during the final minute of decrescendo. Meanwhile, the timbres on "Out of Touch" are fit for a vigorous bike ride, sleigh bells and metallic guitar loops jangling rhythmically over a cyclical kick drum pattern. The shambling acoustic closer "Black Buzz" feels just right for foot traffic, and "Jet Out of the Tundra" cruises at speed like its namesake, the same handful of chords repeating throughout a remarkably brisk seven minutes while Pundt seamlessly adds and removes trebly acoustic strums, Superball bass riffs, and a gorgeous, one-finger piano melody like he's slowly pulling levers in the cockpit. Spooky Action then plays out like ten self-contained, daily commutes where familiarity brings not contempt but a private joy in recognizing the landmarks and shortcuts.
Lest it seem like Spooky Action is an overly subtle work, it's worth reiterating that its 44 minutes are unerringly tuneful and immediate, the sort of thing that seems unambitious until you step back and ask yourself just how many records out there manage to actually pull it off. And Pundt's means of cranking out one instantly memorable chorus after another brings to mind someone who's incredibly good at sports wagering: there's surely some intuition and luck involved, but Pundt's a guy who's figured out how certain mismatches and trends work to his advantage. To get specific: the hyperextended guitar bends that push "White Galactic One" are technically a slight bit off, yet it's that serration that demonstrates why things like these are called "hooks." Where a specific minor chord might be more harmonically congruent, Pundt inserts a major and the result finds "Monoliths" and "Strangers" stocked with ear-turning melodies as opposed to folky familiarity. Heck, it's likely the greatest testament to Pundt's abilities that Spooky Action is in a major key and dedicated to simple pleasures of escape and memory more often than your typical "power-pop" record, and yet it always comes off as warm and generous rather than cloying.
And so while Lotus Plaza is truly a solo project for Pundt, I hear more purposeful solitude than isolation-- like reading a book or swimming laps, "antisocial" with all the pejorative connotations removed. Maybe I'm reading too much into things, but in light of Deerhunter's notoriously volatile personnel dynamic preceding Halcyon Digest, it's tempting to hear Lotus Plaza as Pundt's platonic ideal for a band, where people are as predictable and helpful as loops and are united in their pursuit of the kind of reverberant pop music that makes perfect sense for the times you most enjoy getting caught up in your own thoughts. It's a common ambition for artists to capture the music that plays out in their head and if Spooky Action is really what Pundt's hearing, you can't really blame him for looking so lost within himself all the time.
