The Blank Tapes’ new album Vacation, out this week on Antenna Farm Records is the sound of falling in love with summer—a collection of eleven beachy pop songs featuring infectious melodies and relentlessly upbeat percussion. The trio’s primary songwriter Matt Addams can weave a laid back melody like no one else, while drummer Pearl Charles provides lean but substantial percussive elements. Adams has released a slew of self recorded, at times lo-fi, almost always simple pop songs, and Vacation marks a distinct evolution to the most confident and tight arrangements by the band so far.
As much as I adore The Bank Tapes, I’ve always seen them as a band that expertly wields a finite amount of tools, working songs from a similar, albeit exceptionally well-achieved, angle at pop music. In light of this, Vacation impresses with its multiple facets and constant stylistic shifting. “Uh-Oh” announces the record with what could be the theme song for an early 70s dating gameshow. From there, the album touches on breezy, road-trip perfection on “Coast to Coast,” dark, muddy pop on the excellent “Tamarind Seeds,” simple picking on “Pearl,” and tropicalia-infused beats and melodies on “Brazilia.” Of these, “Tamarind Seeds” surprised and impressed me the most; something in the implacably perfect buzzing, minor-key guitars makes it seem like this phase of the road trip is undertaken on a vintage motorcycle.
While still solid and highly enjoyable, the songs feel looser than preceding tracks. Galloping toms and the country twinge on “Holy Roller” are the clear high points as the record winds down. “Workin” couldn’t feel any more like a closer, staggering drunkenly through sparse instrumentation—wavering guitars and bare vocals. This is the album’s sunset, that giant ball of fire and fun dipping lazily below the horizon. While the record comes to a close, the summer road trip soundtrack of the Blank Tapes doesn’t have to end. The highways are endless, you’ve always got the repeat button, and with this Vacation, we expect you’ll use it.
