Sometime soon after the release of Deerhunter’s Microcastle, while drinking cheap booze and stuffing a friend’s head with my normal nonsense, I started an argument that echoes today, almost exactly three years later. For my side of the battle, I argued that Deerhunter and Atlas Sound frontman Bradford Cox was not only the most interesting dude in music, but also … ahem … the future of indie rock. Ha. My opponent, whom I no longer talk to for reasons only distantly connected to this one bout, argued the case of My Morning Jacket frontman Jim James as Indie Rock Messiah. The fight ended when I drunkenly juxtaposed the poseur steps James has taken through his career with the if-nothing-else obviousness of Cox’s originality. Now, with the release of his third Atlas Sound record, Parallax, Cox has, more or less fulfilled my drunken prophecy. Whether he likes it or not, Bradford Cox does suddenly seem to be the most talked about – and certainly one of the most-listened-to – artists whose albums are currently filed under the undefinable tag of “indie rock.” And, if you’ve read any of his recent interviews, all of which are hugely revealing and pleasantly crazy, you also know that Cox has become, very possibly, the “most interesting dude in music.” And he did so not by ducking behind the boring cloak of irony everyone else in the Indieverse is currently gathered behind, but by trying to tear the thing down.
That sentiment echoes throughout Parallax, a very honest and personal record that, rather than following the trends of the day, continues in the development of Cox’s unearthly sound. The songs, all 12 of ‘em, feel, as Cox himself has said, very lonely – very haunting. They also feel somewhat indebted to the extraterrestrial-obsessed-era Bowie, a vibe Cox has always toyed with, though more here than ever. And while he will tell you that Parallax is “just a rock n’ roll record,” I can’t quite agree. Like much of his music, the record has a strange, almost indescribable sound that links directly to Cox’s unique vocals and production style (that he plays 99 percent of the music himself also factors). At almost every second, the record feels like it’s melting, or like it’s being played underwater. Or, who knows … the whole sound is not juicy but gooey, almost as if you’re chewing on on the songs while you listen.
Whether or not it’s indie rock (a term Cox says he hates), rock n’ roll, space rock, prog rock or pop rock doesn’t matter. It’s good. Very good. Where the other two Atlas Sound record felt, to me, overly long, with spots of dragging boredom, Parallax is top-to-bottom entertaining (aside from maybe “Doldrums”). it’s an album stuffed full of ideas and melodies and layers and interesting lyrics that make you feel closer to the artist than ever. Here and there we hear nods to Spiritualized, Brian Eno, Stereolab, Animal Collective and even Radiohead, sure; but, for the most part, this is Bradford Cox’s sound, and it’s inimitable and hard to define. His sound – not the wild things he says in interviews, the uncommon disease he has or his goofy album cover – is why Bradford Cox is both the most interesting dude in music and maybe even the living future of indie rock.
Of the many, many great moments here, on what is certainly the best Atlas Sound record to date, a few stand out, starting with the albums beautiful, deeply textured titled track, which sees Cox singing about (we can only assume) one of the main topics of his recent interviews – his homosexuality. “He gave me pain / Gave me bruises / After the first time / The muscle loosens / Your pain is probably deeper,” Cox sings, boldly. Interestingly. Like the record’s other 11 tracks, the song floats off towards the top of the room, light to the point of almost dissolving.
Another big standout, “Mona Lisa,” is a should-be college radio hit that, by this time next year, I’m pretty sure every buffoon wearing the big fake glasses and tattooing beer logos on their body will know by heart. And others, too. Parallax, really, is full of those tracks. It’s a new indie rock classic that, Chris Isaac-friendly cover art and all, will easily go down as one of the most personal, un-ironic and deeply haunting indie rock records of this era.
93/100
