Foxygen is so anachronistic the word anachronistic should forever be known as Foxygen.
The band’s sophomore album We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace & Magic is more a document suited for the 20th century, circa 1970, if the band’s name, sound (Mott the Hoople meets Velvet Underground), song titles (“Shuggie”, “San Francisco”) and lyrics (I live in the palm of your hand, down the stream, sea/Get the flowers off the floor and drinking tea) have anything to say about it. This is not reason enough to deny the album’s occasional charm, but at times it elicits the kind of titters one feels when your Baby Boomer father calls something groovy. Like, far out, man.
That Peace & Magic is the brainchild of early 20-somethings Sam France and Jonathan Rado begs the question: Where are kids coming up with this stuff? There is an obvious influence of MGMT here, but even MGMT was more a child of the ’80s than the ’60s. Plus MGMT was thumbing its nose at the bands it borrowed from, but Foxygen comes across as sincere – it permeates with the stench of Flower Power.
The patchouli-laced and ordinary “In the Darkness” opens the proceedings, some Sgt. Peppers horns interspersed with quiet piano and straight-forward drum play. “Maybe in space there’s an alien race/I wouldn’t be surprised” France sings amidst the quiet two-minute swirl. “No Destruction” is a Velvet Underground-inspired track, as France spits out words in a Lou Reed cadence leading into a mirrored chorus of “Femme Fetale”. I can’t tell if it’s an homage or a total rip-off.
“San Francisco” is ridiculous and intriguing – it’s perfectly named for the tone it projects. When there’s not a glockenspiel (!) there’s a merry cliched sing-song midway through, as France’s lament “I left my love in San Francisco” (yes, that is sadly the lyric) is answered with a female repsonse “That’s OK, I was bored anyway.” Honey, you don’t know the half of it.
The album’s best song, “Shuggie” excels by taking chances. The first minute of reggae-influenced guitar gives way to a cinematic tribute a la The Rocky Horror Picture Show, then back to reggae, again to Rocky Horror, followed (of course) by 20 seconds of funk. Did I mention it becomes a revivalist clapping song at the end? I know, it sounds messy, but it’s the only original song on this album. The final three tracks make sure to reference David Bowie, The Kinks and T. Rex before bidding farewell.
I can admire a band embracing its musical heroes, but it A: doesn’t have to be all at once; and B: doesn’t have to be so self-evident. Peace & Magic is a pleasant trip down memory lane but it’s contents have well passed the expiration date.
