Jams of '09: Vivre Sans Temps Mort

The merits "Vivre Sans Temps Mort" are actually pretty well-reflected in the music video: There's a progression through a three (arguably four) episodes that all tie together nicely, yet remain discrete enough to justify distinction: boy buys model car; boy builds model car; model car reappears in milieu of destruction and chaos (and by the apparent volition of its creator, no less). I'm particularly keen on the middle section of the song (2:00-4:02), which somehow transforms a series of one-note jabs into the catchiest idea this side of early Q and Not U. Between the amble of the contemplative introduction and the swift, exciting conclusion, the middle passage brings a palpable sense of tension to a song that's already about everyone's favorite subject ("Spent my whole life just thinking about dying," in case you didn't catch it before).

And here comes the overblown image/music/lyric connection: like the largely stylized ending of the video (a car crash that has been, oooh, constructed), the music can only ever be a lurid, unreal representation of that terminal anticipation. We can watch the boy buy the kit and use the kit, but it's still just a model. In essence: we don't see an actual car crash because that's not what the song is about--it's about the imagination.

If there's any validity to that point though, credit goes to director Cat Solen, not necessarily Double Dagger. Killer song though, right?

Jams of '09: Deadbeat Summer

Aesthetics are a fragile thing. Not that anyone can truly understand how an entity such as an “aesthetic” comes to fruition (many artists don't seem to know themselves), but somehow artists and listeners alike can tell when all the pieces of a song fit together nicely.

"Deadbeat Summer" is one of those songs that gels together so amazingly well you have to question whether the music or concept came first: In the first few bars the piece sounds like it's being played off a melted, warped piece of wax (summertime is hot, no?). The main synth riff warbles in and out of tune and, judging from the shifts in volume for tambourine hits, each part has been mixed to spill across the space a bit. By the time the snare kicks in, the whole thing feels effortless -- we've found our spot in the shade with a lawnchair and an ice pop, lethargy in full effect.

But the simplicity is deceptive! Let's skip to the chorus: the opening synth part is there, along with a secondary synth riff that floats on top and a third set of notes that's sandwiched between the two; there's hazy guitar, the bass & snare drum, the occasional tambourine snap, the bassline, and the vocals. That's eight different elements that sound more like four, all snug and accounted for.

Somehow Neon Indian has crafted an aesthetic that's so unbelievably apt for this kind of summer day it seems all too real. And yes, the music stands alone, but given how well the ideas run together, it's the kind of song you can't really imagine being about anything else -- quite the accomplishment, no?