strictlypoison's Full Review: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah by Clap Your Hands Say Ye...
Using the leverage of the internet to turn word of mouth into a global phenomena, NYC band Clap Your Hands Say Yeah managed to vault onto the discussion list of the hipster community with their self-titled debut album. And good for them, I must say. What's most striking about this album, which is almost uniformly unique in every aspect, will be singer Alec Ounsworth's singular madman's controlled howl. Equal parts flinty and ballsy, Ounsworth's tuneful screeching adds a different air to what could possibly be a typical post-punk album.
And that is not to denigrate the band in anyway, for sure the most telling response to the album is a desire to hear it again. While easily in the same family as scenester darlings The Arcade Fire, there are also elements of the electric folk-focused Wolf Parade, arrangements that would make the late, heavily lamented English band James sigh with nostalgia; as well as a wry and sardonic humor (the kind that produces the irony of Morrissey's Smith lyrics); as well as the unusual instrumentation that can be viewed alongside The Unicorns. Furthermore, the atmosphere of the music is like a most bizarre cross-pollination of bands like Ride and...carnival fare (not to be confused with the carnival atmosphere of Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite).
The songs alone are rather entrancing after a few listens and, once the hystrionics of Ounsworth's vocal techniques are adjusted to, you find the band plows some rather unusual terrain thematically. With the exception of Details of the War, the album buzzes with the kind of affirmative good vibes that Beachwood Sparks and the Polyphonic Spree have built a reputation around. (As an aside, one good way to gauge the uniqueness of a band is to see how many other bands are namedropped when describing them. Clearly Clap Your Hands Say Yeah is a daunting challenge on this score.)
We find in Let the Cool Goddess Rust Away a rollicking intersection of chugging bass and drums, the kind of rhythmic guitar attack you'd expect from the Talking Heads, and the esoteric appeal of the vocals, all vying for position without overshadowing the other. The gleeful guitar plucking on The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth works carefully to accentuate a melody over the bass and drums that carry the song, while Ounsworth crafts his most winning vocal performance of the album. That he can sing, without conceit, about "my yellow country teeth" shows him to be a character actor within his work as well as a very likable persona.
Had this album more diversity (as it is, the only thing separating a few of the songs on here is the odd instrumentation between each track), I would gladly give it a five star rating. But this is a debut album recorded on the cheap and then catapulted into the spotlight of the hip purely on the strength of its merits, something that seems increasingly difficult despite the flourishing of the internet. If this is to be the first in a wave of internet Eureka! moments, I'm happy to tip my hat towards Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. If they can follow this album with an elevated and more cohesive sophomore release, I strongly believe they will cement their reputation as the hippest band to love. If they fail, they have at least given the hipster community something it was desperately searching for: Pop that's perfect enough to thrill the heart, but difficult enough to challenge the mainstream.
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