Now we’re not saying the mainstream record industry is full of short-sighted, one-eyed idiots, but it’s a funny thing how no-one seems to have picked up on the vast chasm – no, the gargantuan void – just crying out to be filled by a guy/girl group playing smart pop music with guitars and harmonies. It looks like a no-brainer, but presumably none of the record execs even noticed that at some point it became completely acceptable for everyone to dust off “Rumours” and start to love Fleetwood Mac all over again.
After all, pop music doesn’t have to be quite so homogenized, does it? Surely there’s still some room to sign a real band these days. Despite their best efforts, Coldplay still sell records, don’t they? Painful as it may be to invoke Chris Martin and co as saviours of the good old fashioned band in contemporary pop music, it’s worth considering. But we digress. All we’re saying is that you might expect that some smart, on-the-money A&R man would have picked up on Family of the Year, a band with two brothers, a girl, real instruments, and – most importantly – a clutch of very snappy pop tunes. As long as no-one mentions the Magic Numbers, we’re all onto a winner, right?
So what’s so good about them? Well, although they released a debut album in 2009, FOTY’s songwriting really came to the fore on last year’s “Through the Trees” EP. From smart balladeering (”Hero”), through happy-clappy harmonising (”Chugjug”), to Empire of the Sun synth-pop (”The Barn”), the record did what good records should do, it showcased what the band can do. Which was lots of things, very well, since you ask. It even had a song with the chorus “…just so we can feel a little bit better about the neighbour’s angry letter on our doorstep, on our door-fuckin’-step”. So they even have a sense of humour. What’s not to like?
The band was formed by brothers Sebastian and Joseph Keefe, who were born in Wales but raised in Martha’s Vineyard, and they are augmented by Christina Schroeter’s softly sweet vocals, and James Buckey. Newly released EP “St Croix” develops the band’s sound further, the title track sounding a little like the Radio Dept on an upbeat day, a jaunty, big-chorused knickerbocker glory of liberating sunshine-pop. More appealing than the unexpected disappearance of Jeremy Clarkson, it’s sure to sound mighty sweet next summer, by which time you can expect the release of the band’s next album and a rather larger audience, we fancy. And who knows, a their current rate of ascent, they might even be the future of intelligent pop music.
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