My personal musical continuum allows for wide-range emotional expression. On one end of the continuum lies rage; at the other, joy. Everything else-- from sadness or humor, to apathy or longing-- falls somewhere between. It is a broad, canyonesque continuum, spanning genres as diverse as black metal, slow-core, space-funk, post-punk, and many others. But alas, there a few limited avenues of expression which find themselves on an entirely different plane, excluded from this continuum of toleration. One of them is cuteness.
Palomar is cute. Not perpetually cute, thank god, but in spurts, Palomar are Nermal to my Garfield-- almost intolerable, and a major hurdle toward my enjoyment of the album-- or most adults', for that matter. The basic cuteness construct Palomar employs here is a spin on pop/punk, with a heavy emphasis on the 'pop' part, and the 'spin' displaying all of the symptoms of an indie-polka. The polka-line isn't just a toss-off critique, either; tunes like "Knockout" or the beginning of "Lesion" had me tasting pierogies.
None of this is to say that Palomar aren't talented. Quite the contrary-- wade your way through the Hello Kitty delivery and you have a good slab of catchy, competent songwriting. One of the band's talents is orchestrating spunky, energetic vocal melodies. It sounds like at least three, if not all four band members, chip in once in a while to sing lead, enrich choruses, add counterpoint, or complete a four-part harmony. Tonally, the band remains fairly consistent, with treble-heavy bass, two guitars (one with a warm electric tone, the other overdriven), and a nasal vocal lead.
The music itself is nowhere near as stagnant as most pop-punk, though, as Palomar sensibly modulates tempo and intensity, like on "Evening Falls at the Buffalo Bar," which shifts from a slow, one-horse trot to a full-band gallop. "Up!," featuring two guys from the Strokes (!) on background vocals (not Julian), builds through a standard punk verse to a super-catchy Grease-like theatrical chorus and denouement.
Demographics are probably about as much of a concern for Palomar as an arena tour. But supposing this band had thought about demographics, it would be plainly evident that they'd reached some sort of consensus about females under the age of 22. I say this because Palomar plays fun, youthful music-- the kind of stuff you'd expect your 16-year-old girlfriend to put on a summertime mixdisc (your 16-year-old girlfriend-- mine is 17, thanks very much).
The youngsters will probably enjoy this record most, but this doesn't mean you won't, too (provided you're over 22). If you have the stomach for a cute, carnival-fun atmosphere, Palomar just may be your very own orgasmic version of Whack-A-Mole. If you don't, then the Tilt-a-Whirl may be a better analogy, with this review playing the part of 'ominous wafting barf aroma.'
