(2010, Captured Tracks/Woodsist)
RIYL = A Faulty Chromosome, Real Estate, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
Beach Fossils is the summer of 2010. Or maybe the summer of 1980. Or even the summer of 1960. It’s kinda timeless like that. Like a melting ice cream cone. Like The Sandlot (1993). (Like early eighties New Order.) So Beach Fossils is, simply, summer. And for that it is wholly appropriate (I would’ve posted about it earlier this week, but felt like the appearance of snow in Salt Lake City was a sign to forbear). Beach Fossils is straight laced indie rock. It’s as simple as that. And with that understanding you might be tempted to yawn, flip your pillow to its cooler side and fall back to sleep. But you’d be making a mistake. Listening to Beach Fossils is far more comfortable/relaxing/rejuvenating than a Saturday nap. And more consistant too (you never wake up with that disorienting, "What? It's already 6PM?" feeling). Eleven straight tracks goodness - no filler. With their jangly guitars and understated-yet-powerful hooks (so Brooklyn right now!), Beach Fossils have turned out one of the best pop albums of the year. There is not much more that one can say than that, right? Nope, not much.