Brad Shoup has us listening to an English indie pop duo…
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[6.40]
Patrick St. Michel: It’s everyone’s favorite game show, NMWeeeee!, where young vaguely hyped bands spin the big wheel to see what vaguely hyped British bands of the last decade they’ll sound like! Tonight’s contestant… Thumpers! Alright, they’ve spun and… oh, what a combo: it’s early Foals meets Cajun Dance Party with a little Chvrches mixed in! You’ve won the honor of having your name written in 16-point font on the Coachella poster two years from now!
[5]
Edward Okulicz: Argh! Horribly overstuffed, inane, wimpy indie-pop. Infuriatingly catchy indie-pop, too. Like an MGMT I can actually get behind, this is all sunshine and bright primary colours on pants, comfortable in its unstoppable tweeness, going into my heart, my ears, and my brain, and causing hand-claps and air drums. And each vocal line tumbling over each other in the chorus so that I can’t really make either out combines into a blast of pure joy. Could have, should have, been a 2014 “Steal My Sunshine” (or at least a 2014 “Two Princes”). What’s wrong with you, world?
[10]
Thomas Inskeep: If Bleachers were Brits and listened to a bit more Phoenix, they’d sound pretty much exactly like this. Mind you, I like both “I Wanna Get Better” and “Lisztomania,” so there you go.
[6]
Juana Giaimo: How is it that I’m always caught with regular ’80s-influenced indie pop songs? While the verses pass inadvertently, it’s the chorus that has the strongest impact as the voices scale towards the top but never reach it.
[7]
Alfred Soto: Remember when Bloc Party were a thing? Oh well. There’s something to be said about a band whose single honors their name.
[4]
Iain Mew: I like the knotty lyrics and multiple layer vocals fine, the more so for the reminding me of Grammatics. The stand out though, is the feedback-swamped instrumental break, the part where they really earn the song’s title.
[7]
Katherine St Asaph: Less a wall of sound than a smothering blanket.
[5]
Anthony Easton: The production is too busy, the vocals haven’t decided if they want to sing or speak, the heavy breathing is embarrassing, they should have committed to hand claps, the whole thing drags even at a little over three minutes, and the lyrics are facile.
[2]
Josh Langhoff: The “Unkinder” is a mythick rock ‘n’ roll hobgoblin, along the lines of Debaser or Berserker, here summoned into a synthpop song. Whether Unkinder will tough-tough-toughen up the Thumpers’ synthpop hearts-hearts-hearts remains to be seen. It should, however, be ideal for thumping the tub while bathing a child, assuming you can learn the words — not that that’s stopped me from butchering “Running Up That Hill.”
[8]
Brad Shoup: Whoever Thumpers dressed up as are world-historical terrors: seismic and charged, a giant field coil wound in sinew. They roll through like a wheel on fire: galloping tom and snare, bells like million-dollar pinball bumpers, Marcus Pepperell puffing the word “heart” over and over, a louche forest wind. It’s an assemblage of dread images, lashed to the concept of a band. Or a couple, or just you, but a song rarely makes me want to do more than just listen. But in my better moments, the drums kick in, the piano rings, I look at the blank screen and remember the mark I put on: prepare thyself to deal with a miracle.
[10]