Following in the bold footsteps of Merge Records pioneer Mac McCaughan, The Rosebuds, Merge's latest riled-up, power-pop endeavor, are pounding out the same sort of elastic, hooky guitar rock that McCaughan himself once used to kick out with Superchunk. Culled directly from the Merge backyard (Raleigh, NC), The Rosebuds are an energetic three-piece (guitar, keyboards, drums) harboring a bold, arm-flailing rhythmic tendency that should earn them piles of favorable comparisons to contemporary dance-punks Hot Hot Heat and Radio 4. But it's The Rosebuds' full-on embrace of pop formula-- big, rousing choruses, twitchy keyboard bits, insistently bouncing drums-- that ultimately makes them such an addictive outfit.
The Rosebuds' unquestioning approval of all things sweet and melodic is also what makes them bend, occasionally, a little bit twee: you won't find the slightest indication of a disdain-soaked smirk lurking beneath their canny synths and grinning vocals, and while that earnestness might seem unbearable on paper, it can be enormously engaging in action. Their debut, Make Out, incites the same kind of giggly, brainless exhilaration that goes along with actually making out-- and appropriately, it's only thirty-five minutes long.
"Kicks in the Schoolyard" is an exuberant, Kinks-ish bash (at barely 2\xBD minutes, it also cuts out before anyone can ask too many questions) that sees Kelly Crisp's keyboards and Ivan Howard's guitar taking equal swipes at the melody, ably backing up Howard's full, sloping vocals. "My Downtown Friends" (aside from hosting the inarguable city-kid mantra "we're going downtown/ Trying to get in for free") offers more of the same feel-good, 50s-inspired pop, complete with a wailed "yeah, yeah, yeah" refrain. "Drunkard's Worst Nightmare" is a bit darker (although still far from nightmarish), with some distorted guitar soloing slipping in and out of a high, howled chorus.
Overall, Make Out tends to skew slightly retro, but lovingly so-- the record's clean, straightforward keyboards and vigorous beats invoke the late 80s without making any grand, iconoclastic statements about what that nod might or might not mean. The band's at their best when they stick to glowing, enthusiastically up-tempo, guitar-led tracks. Some of the ballads here can seem unnecessarily gooey or unbearably repetitive (see "Big Heartbreak", "The Make Out Song")-- enough so that they may test the tolerance of even the most patient power-poppers. Mostly, though, Make Out is a quick, breathless somersault, all kicking feet and nodding heads, mouths wide open in dumb, singalong bliss.
