If Death Cab for Cutie, Ra Ra Riot, M. Ward, Grey Eye Glances and the synthesizer guy from Depeche Mode circa 1983 (see album Construction Time Again) got together to bake a cake to welcome the new neighbor to the 'hood, and if that cake had been decorated with silly squiggles of Vampire Weekend and topped with a folk-inspired candle, that cake would be Freelance Whales. And there would be impolite swipes in the frosting before you even cut it, cuz its charmingly good.
The whole album is a lovely little meet and greet, and you want to wrap the band, their watering can, weird breathalyzer instrument I can't name, glockenspiel and all, in your pocket. In their song, Hannah, singer Judah politely asks 'Do me this solid if you would pretty lady, grab a martini and meet me on the balcony. I prepared a light show, you could fake a melody, we argue over where and when the cymbal hits should be....and if you're partial to the night sky, if you're vaguely attracted to rooftops...'
Why, I never thought you'd ask. Yes, yes, and yes.
Thus I pimp mightily the Whales' release, Weathervanes, but I also pound my chest to display a certain musical dominance. Me and a friend discovered them long before they became "album of the week" on the vanguard alt radio station we rely on. And when I heard the "album of the week" news wafting through my car speakers last Sunday, my rejoinder shot out, a cannonball of smugness: "I got to them first, fuckers!"
And though the cover album art looks like a cross-stitch pattern your great aunt bought for you when you were 8 and still following the Mennonite faith, there is something sublime about a backstory whereby a band that just started playing in late 2008 on street corners and subway stops can now transport you from the comfort of your very own ipod. Joyfully. Effortlessly.
What makes you pound your musical chest? Give it up!
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