"Competent" is the word that comes to mind when discussing singer Eleanore Everdell and Jason Friedman's debut full-length as the Hundred in the Hands. Over the course of 41 minutes, the NYC duo deliver slice after slice of buzzy, dancey new wave, with little fanfare or provocation; there's something to admire in how capably they capture their genre's most crowd-pleasing signifiers. In a musical culture when artists are sometimes awarded points just for showing up, these two come to the party dressed to the nines, with a few bottles of (tastefully presented) booze and their genre's most crowd-pleasing, familiar signifiers to share.
In terms of cheap thrills, then, there's plenty to like here-- particularly, the echoed throb of single "Pigeons" or "Dead Ending"'s slinky disco. As a front-to-back listening experience, however, most of these songs lose any sort of pleasurable impact they'd have as standalone cuts, instead coagulating into a near-shapeless mass of mid-tempo melody. As a whole, the thing kind of feels like a dulled switchblade: it might look shiny, but good luck drawing blood with it.
One problem is Everdell's vocals. Throughout the record, she alternates between a cool, cosmopolitan patter and the kind of high-pitched, volume-raising plead that has made Karen O famous. You don't get the feeling that anything's at stake, and the fact that most of her lyrics could be mistaken for leftovers from the last Metric record doesn't help.
If the Hundred in the Hands want to find success beyond getting remixed on a future Kitsuné compilation (trust me, it'll happen), they're going to have to build some sort of discernible identity first. They might want to take some cues from the record's pair of standouts, "This Day Is Made" and album closer "The Beach". Both cuts have a deliciously downtempo feel that suits Everdell's voice quite well, the latter sounding like a Cardigans song that never was (and should've been). Otherwise, this record is the SoHo-boutique equivalent of a Thanksgiving dinner: it tastes all right, but good luck staying awake 'til dessert.
