Or New York. That’s where the band formed in the early aughties, rubbing elbows with kindred avant-rock troupes Animal Collective and TV on the Radio. But as those bands pole-vaulted out of indieland and into a splintering mainstream, Gang Gang Dance’s brainy swirl of dub, Bollywood and reggaeton remained largely subterranean.
Only, pushing makes it sound like work. And these seven songs — plus three interludes of ambient connective tissue — have a notable ease to them, a sure-footed confidence that you don’t often hear from artists sweating hard to shake things up.
You can sense the band’s mettle immediately with “Glass Jar,” an album-opening track that sounds as natural and mystifying as birth. Drummer Jesse Lee settles into a free-jazz simmer while keyboardist Brian DeGraw, once of Washington no-wave quartet the Crainium, lets his synthesizers gleam and sparkle. After six minutes of anticipation, the beat spills over into a blissed-out, aural avalanche. Singer Lizzi Bougatsos dives in: “I surrender!”
At least that’s what it sounds like she’s saying. Her Kate Bush-inspired mewl has morphed into new timbres over the years, but her lyrics remain tough to make out. But they come into startling focus during the dystopian dancehall bounce of “MindKilla.” As her bandmates recycle noises from all over the planet, Bougatsos makes a plea for silence, cribbing the lyrics to the traditional lullaby “Hush, Little Baby.”
So here’s the big mystery: Why, in 2011, aren’t there scores of bands like this? Where’s the cosmic ambition? The insatiable global appetites? We have to wait for flying cars and we only get one Gang Gang Dance in the meantime?
The future is cruel.