Some of my favorite bands pull melody from miasma, but Mommy and Daddy's melodies are miasmas, hard brusque things that team up with their gritty backdrops. There is no faint glow seeping through clouds of cosmic dust, no trapped heart pulsing beneath spiritless pummel; just two robo-kids who happen to know a few scales. So forget tenderness, Mommy and Daddy have none. Each song on Duel at Dawn promises two things: a stupid-hard drumbeat and oversaturated synths. Such is the extent of its aesthetic breadth, and Mommy and Daddy make no apologies for their insularity.
Ignore the almost wholly synthetic sound matter and you get garage rock, more or less. "A Good Deal" is a shuffle of arena-sized proportions, all boom-bap drums and fuzzy one-line hook. It might be directly inspired by any number of Jock Jams staples. Same goes for "Cops", which psyched me with a sibilant modified schaffel intro before taking the caveman stomp route. (Best part: dissonant, half-step organ quarters-- Andrew W.K., meet your evil doppelganger.) "Lost the Plot" even calls in tambourine to accompany its growling bass-as-hook and standard-issue "whoa-oh-oh"s.
Mommy and Daddy seem hellbent on making fatuous, subtlety-free music, but sometimes they can't help it-- everyone needs a little sonic primping. Witness: the beats. These aren't graceless 808 belches, but coordinated, if simplistic, rhythms comprised of carefully chosen sounds. 'Cause hey, each violent throb has its proper snare timbre and cymbal decay. So, while what I really want from a track like "Way West Way"-- which has all the riffy makings of awesomeness-- is unchecked Keith Moon bombast, I can appreciate the button-pressing technique.
This variant of DIY electro-punk is the Miami booty bass of indie rock: music with sharp angles and dubious ambitions. But unlike booty bass, which has a forum to release its glorious, vapid, think-with-your-pelvis energy, Mommy and Daddy do not own any dancefloors. Their breed of dumb fun gets turned away at the door and rebottled as headachey tension. I'd love to say the lyrics bolster the sound, but, like the hooks, they're subservient to the scuzz and sass, more vibe than content. Really, it's sedative or bust: Spend the full two-thirds' hour in this rubber room of an album and you'll be overhyped and screaming to be let out.
