It isn’t often anymore that I encounter a band with fans as enthusiastic as Reptar’s, and if you’ve ever attended one of their live shows, you know why. Graham Ulicny (guitar and vocals), William Kennedy (keyboards), Ryan Engelberger (bass), and Andrew McFarland (drums) are a lively and endearing gang. Their performances have even the most stubborn concertgoers nodding their heads and tapping their feet. Part of what makes the band so enthralling is that all of the members are talented musicians- before dropping out to pursue music careers, Kennedy and Engelberger were both music majors, Ulicny hovered between a major in music and physics, and McFarland learned to play drums while living in Brazil. The other part is that when you put these boys together, it’s magic.
From handmade releases being handed out in backyards during SXSW to their first EP, the triumphant Oblangle Fizz Y’all, each release offers new proof of the band’s talent, growth, and absolute freakishness (have you seen their latest video?). So it’s no surprise that their debut album, Body Faucet, is being met with adoration from both fans and critics alike. All three releases were the result of a chance encounter, a cosmic coincidence. Grammy Award winning producer Ben Allen (Gnarls Barkley, Washed Out, Animal Collective) stumbled into a bar in 2009 while waiting for a friend. He was so taken with this Athens, Georgia outfit that he offered his skills on the spot.
Body Faucet opens with space voyage-esque sounds before bursting forth with powerful drums and hooky guitar. “Sebastian” (saint turned gay icon) is about remembering an experience of sexual awakening with a friend. This poppy epic blends seamlessly into “Please Don’t Kill Me”–a song that sounds too akin to Paul Simon’s Graceland days, with Ulicny singing in an uncomfortably high voice. Still, even my least favorite track on this album has me thinking of it days later, chanting “ulicka, ulicka” in my head. “Thank You Gliese 370 b” is a synth-ridden shoegaze number that feels like I could have heard it before in some 80’s teen movie, and I mean that in the best way possible. Both 50’s throwback “Natural Bridge” and pop anthem “Orifice Origami” are instant hits, made for summer compilations and college radio stations. The driving “New House” is a song about new possibilities, with David Byrne-esque vocals that go from a deep growl to a yip.
But accompanying their laissez-faire, dance party tunes, Ulicny’s lyrics prove that it isn’t all confetti cannons and glitter. Body Faucet is littered with themes of fear, failed expectations, longing for someone gone, and being unable to effectively communicate your feelings to those around you. In other words, you might have had fun at the party, but the walk home is lonely. On the syrupy “Sweet Sipping Soda,” Ulicny sings “heart is an animal the heart is a saint/ why does my heart act so bad anyway?”. The narrator in the aforementioned “Sebastian” wants to “sleep with you next to me/ show you that I want to be/ mincing my emotion, you just don’t care.” Ulicny calls for guidance, singing, “too many windows, not enough time to look through, what can I do?” after earlier demanding, “I can’t control it, what do I do?” The quiet and affecting “Ghost Bike” is about the aftermath of watching one’s lover die in a bike accident.
The boys of Reptar are unique spirits and Body Faucet is a perfect example of that. The album is full of obscure references, “Albion” being an antiquated name for Great Britain and Gliese 370 b a star in a far away constellation. These examples of the band’s singularity only stand to make them more lovable and complex, whether they’re writing power-pop, video-gamey dance melodies, or slow, crooning ballads. Perhaps Body Faucet is more predictable and structured than Oblangle Fizz Y’all, but it’s only because Reptar has become a better band since then. They continue to push the boundaries of their genre- not by breaking the rules of it, but by refusing to acknowledge that there are any rules. Body Faucet is undoubtedly a sparkling moment in music.
