With such a strange band name, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. might be playing with fire, at least when it comes to entering-then-ascending the devastatingly whimsical window of internet-interest. But while artists have been burned in the past by the golden shackle of their quirky names (Does someone still love Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin? or do we still say Yeah to Clap Your Hands?), it seems high time now, halfway through 2011, that a band like DEJJ proves the hypothesis that music speaks for itself. The Detroit duo, which started a casual experiment between lifelong songwriters, probably didn’t care so much about the band name since they weren’t intending on performing live. But then they did, once, on a whim, and covered “God Only Knows,” and crowds fell in love. Their respective talents and considerable experience (both having fronted consummate atmosphero/theatro/experimental pop ensembles with their disarmingly exquisite, wispy voices) made it seem almost senseless not to follow through on this.
They showed potential through crafting finely spun singer/songwriter-y ditties, sublimely fuzzed and furled by numerous pedals, looping and delaying their mellifluous voices, winding and wringing their shimmery flairs of electric guitar as they cherubically whistled in between their ear-worm choruses. Electronics and tongue-in-cheek NASCAR jumpsuits aside, it was humble and earnest enough to invite the epiphany that this might be like the Simon & Garfunkel of the 22nd century. Their next trick of avoiding second-degree internet burns might be swerving out of any “wave”-themed genre label application to their buzzy marching grooves, be it “beach-wave” or, worse, “chillwave.” For a lot of listeners, these songs (on their debut LP) wound up vindicating them — enough so to even bend the ears at Warner Bros. and get them touring with Tapes ‘n Tapes and EMA.
“Ya know I never worry bout myself,” belts Joshua Epstein through a shimmying anthemic chorus on the horn-blared synth-pop tumbler “Vocal Chords.” And that’s essentially the point. Set aside that this band’s music slams it in reverse from preconceptions that it might be a Brad Paisley or Toby Keith derivative, they’re also gracefully stirring cheesy adult contempo-80s-drum-clasps in between zests of Wonder-like funk and sprightly shuffling echoes of Graceland-esque allure. Songs like “Simple Girl” are breezy, swaying affairs with mercurial rhythmic taps evoking basketballs on asphalt or Dad’s hammering in the garage while guitars simmer up at choruses with the soothing squall of cicadas at sunset. “If I Wasn’t You” clatters together like spoke-stuck baseball cards before settling into a daydreamy, sweet and somber sunset ballad stirred by harps, acoustic guitars, and tinny toy pianos.
There’s an uncanny and guileless incandescence to these songs, perhaps owed considerably to their keen ears for dulcet tones and penchants for layering songs with a blend of celestial synths and gleaming guitars, but the warmth, the soul of these songs spurs from their honeyed harmonies. Simon, Garfunkel, and CSN, pick your reference point — certain vocal ranges and timbres are manifestly matches-made-in-heaven. Forget their tendencies for setting a summery scene (one can almost see the pastel rainbow rivulets of freshly rinsed sidewalk chalk murals under one’s scrappily strutting sandal’d feet to these amenably danceable tunes); in fact, the ingredient at the bottom of DEJJ’s bubbly pan is actually atmospheric hip-hop — it just happens to froth and ferment up as enlivening pop music. Strip away voices, acoustic guitars, and the lullaby-ish balladry, and you have substantial grooves, declarative beats, and mesmerizing blends of fuzzed, meandering synthesizers clanging and cooing.
This is music that’s supposed to coax you (accomplished by the marching beats of “Morning Thought,” with its rounding/waving chorus and bell chimes), to convince you that this is the park where you wanna play; it’s supposed to be fun (accomplished by the forebodingly tongue-in-cheek title track’s buoyant, bass-buzzed rock anthem qualities), and it’s supposed to get your guard down (accomplished by their swooning harmonies and brushy melodies). “Don’t try so hard,” Daniel Zott’s vocals assuage on their single “Nothing But Our Love,” or, earlier, at “Morning’s” chorus shrugging off anxious second-guessing, that “I’m not thinking about it.” If you’re hung up on the name, you’re thinking about it too much. Chalk it up as another victory for that old cliché about a rose-by-any-other-name.