Some people laugh at chillwave precisely because so many of its practitioners lack a sense of humor. But Alan Palomo is an exception. In 2009, the Texas-raised musician's Neon Indian project debuted with the excellent Psychic Chasms. Like a lot of young musicians, the then-21-year-old Palomo was inspired by Ariel Pink, and he certainly shared that art-pop oddball's sense of irreverence. Below the static and sneakily intricate synth patterns, Psychic Chasms was a funny, playful record, with goofy, drugged-out moments exemplified by song titles like "Laughing Gas".
As the buzz around Psychic Chasms increased, the narrative shifted. Neon Indian attained a surprising level of popularity that was bolstered by a rocking, party-ready live show, drawing in fans of populist acts like Passion Pit and MGMT. After that raised profile, Neon Indian's second album, Era Extraña, shows a commitment to tighter, wide-reaching songcraft and appeal. The production value is at a higher level, with additional mixing by big-name studio guy Dave Fridmann (the Flaming Lips, MGMT), who forgoes his usual noise-bombing style for a more subtle approach. Those drawn to Psychic Chasms' warped view of pop or outré work like the difficult, abstract EP with the Flaming Lips last year may be disappointed; Era Extraña instead builds on Neon Indian's one-off single with Green Label Sound last year, the straightforward "Sleep Paralysist".
Reflecting the shift, there's an increased focus on streamlined melodies; the vocal gasps and moans that streaked previous highs like "Terminally Chill" are still here, just not as suffocating. The wordless chorus of "Hex Girlfriend" is all but set to rock a festival stage or two, while "Halogen (I Could Be a Shadow)" is a rush of life-affirming, upwards-moving melodic optimism. The music itself is intricate and accomplished, with dizzying layers of synth arrangements and stray sounds crammed into even the most big-tent cuts-- we're talking rocket-ship noises, phone conversations, lasers, and visceral video-game samples. Despite the kitchen-sink arrangements, the results are taut and defined. Palomo is anything but sloppy and he seems focused on the album as a unified whole: one of his finest songs yet, the melancholy, remix-ready "Arcade Blues", was given bonus-track status because he felt it didn't fit in with Era Extraña's overriding themes.
Era Extraña is partly about love. It may not be "breakup album," in the strictest sense, but the record sounds romantic and lovesick and looks toward sounds that bring these feelings to mind, from the sugary crunch of Isn't Anything-era My Bloody Valentine ("The Blindside Kiss") to Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark ("Fallout"). The feel of Era Extraña is expansive and lonely, like someone staring at the night sky in solitude (he recorded the bulk of it solo in Helsinki, Finland during the dead of winter, where, according to a recent Pitchfork interview, he was often on the verge of losing his shit mentally.)
Another topic touched on in that interview was the album's sense of longing, and "Future Sick" conveys the feeling of growing older in a world that's growing faster than you are. Palomo bemoans having to look towards past the present under seasick synths, singing mid-volume under his own creation's drunken abstraction and promising to "wake when things start to get peculiar".
Palomo feels more comfortable when looking to the past than turning his gaze to the uncertain future. While Era Extraña still contains the familiar warm glow of old television sets and half-remembered memories of the 1980s, Palomo is more than adept when utilizing short-term memory to evoke some of modern indie's more memorable 2000s-era fashions. The insistent pulse of "Suns Irrupt" is reminiscent of LCD Soundsystem's "Someone Great", "Halogen (I Could Be a Shadow)" is the near-double of M83's teenage epic "Kim and Jessie", and the sweetly lackadaisical verse structure of "Polish Girl" recalls the similarly unspooling inner monologue that runs through Stars' "Reunion". Coincidentally, those three songs of the not-so-distant past all deal with the loss of something-- a friend, youth, and irresponsible love, respectively. Amidst the bleepy synths and swooning melodies, Palomo's simply attempting not to lose himself, as he sighs through processed vocal effects on "Suns Irrupt": "Gone/ But I'm waiting to be someone." Two albums in, he remains a compelling songwriter. The scrappy charm of Psychic Chasms was hugely appealing from the jump and its brilliant initial flash faded just slightly over time. This is a far more serious record than its predecessor, but Palomo isn't always as assured in rendering the darker material.
