La Big Vic is a New York City trio comprising producer Toshio Masuda, composer and synth-tinkerer Peter Pearson, and singer and violinist (and former Pitchfork contributor) Emilie Friedlander. Their spaced-out 2011 debut, Actually, reliably translated leftfield influences-- new age, dub, early electronic experimentation-- into a more approachable experience. The result was testament to the group's good taste and unconventional leanings (they released an all-dub remix version of it the same year), if not a little shaky getting on its feet-- groove-friendly, sure, but lacking in quantifiable oomph. But with Cold War La Big Vic make a crucial leap, tightening up what made them unique to offer one of the best outsider pop records of the young year.
You could almost run Actually right into Cold War without batting an eyelash, if it weren't for the fact that they've blown everything widescreen. "Cold War" is an affirming opening, and for all its familiar synthetic percolations and winsome, melodic loftiness, there's a serious rhythmic backbone that places its feet firmly on the ground, sounding like something the Chemical Brothers of the late 1990s would kick themselves for not thinking of first. This reinvigorated focus on beats-- trip-hoppy at times, chugging and mechanical at others-- now frames the komische flourishes and prog flirtations in a context that's almost radio-friendly. La Big Vic's third eye still remains firmly intact, but instead of making music built for headphones, Cold War is a record meant to be played out in the open; music that can fill a room and move with the fickle ebb and flow of the people in it, proving delightfully distracting for snatches of time.
This might lead you to believe that La Big Vic are merely jukebox junkies, but these songs are anything but convoluted or over-stuffed. At no point does it feel as if you're listening to the product of messy curation or some soupy free-for-all. Every song here has both intention and decent structure: The addictive "All That Heaven Allows" builds itself around a tweaked-out video game synth, yet feels like deeply funky, aqueous lounge music. "Nuclear Bomb" is perhaps more Falco than Kraftwerk, but gets its kicks from a giddy rush of glitter punk. "Save the Ocean" knocks off Danny Elfman's Pee-wee score in a deliciously demented way, adding a graveyard creep.
There are better songs yet on the record, including "Emilie Say's", which showcases Friedlander's vocals nicely; she can wrap a melody around the swirling music in an unexpectedly catchy, chameleonic fashion. The real takeaway is "catchy," and that this band no longer gets by on feel alone-- just look at highlight "Ave B", a slinky late-nighter that will stick in your brain for weeks to come. At a time when anyone with a modem can namecheck and reference weirdos to their heart's content, La Big Vic are doing the weirdest thing possible for a band of their ilk right now: Playing it straight.
