Cults Static

Commitments are merely reflections of one’s existing circumstances. What currently motivates Brooklyn duo Cults is a mutual pledge that extends beyond their contractual compromise as musicians, that of former lovers who hang on artificial support to further what they had already established. Mixing a relationship with business is never a simple matter, especially if a breakup is still fresh in their minds. It seems like their hardest times are already behind them, though, but the friction that must’ve been prevalent in the making of Static makes for inquisitive listeners to dig a little bit deeper into their skin-deep pop luminescence.

The duo of Brian Oblivion and Madelin Follin have publicly denied the “breakup album” descriptor often, but Static is teeming with palpable images that describe otherwise. Starting with the cover itself, which obscures them into dot patterns, their bodies faintly slanting in opposite directions. But before stepping into any spurious, cultish theories, it’s fair to say that Cults have approached such themes with a direct, yet generalized view before, from the blood-fueled imagery of lovelorn anthem Abducted to the oppressive dependency of Oh My God. It’s ingrained in their DNA, their need to sing a love song that old was sung.

Instead of refining their novel jumble of sweeping, Spector-esque grandiosity and fuzz-tinged Motown soul, the production in Static owns more to the billowy haze of classic psychedelia. The slamming tom hits and cold sweat riffs are reproduced with a vintage filter in I Can Hardly Make You Mine, a crying call that’s sung with pleading naiveté. A penchant for the majestic remains, though, as Follin’s strident voice refracts through all the gooey reverb-drench as the paisly pop meets John Barry-sprawl of We’ve Got It veers into a darkly orchestrated murk despite its winsome lyrical approach. In short, its blatant overreaching sounds, frankly, like a bit of a mess.

However, when Cults write in simple and solemn form, they prove their versatility as songwriters who know how to write a distinctive and memorable earworm melody. Always and Forever has the same itchy yearning of a Duane Eddy ballad, Follin’s pony-tailed innocence perfectly accentuated with its ethereal organs and beatific soundscapes. When they slightly break from all the indistinct sound wash, like in Were Before, it provides a welcome clarity that’s almost chilling as they present themselves front and center considering how they express a desire to part. This is more the exception rather than the rule, since they’ll often do as much as add a plinking piano here or a chunky bass groove there to warrant a minimum degree on distinctiveness.

Which brings a troublesome issue to light: minding that Cults uniquely revamped a sound that’s constantly replicated with shoddy results, it still occasionally comes off as inert if you extract its weighty production values. One could say that the crestfallen/joyous swings in mood have something to do with the inconsistency at hand, but they actually add tension to their "art imitates life" confluence. Static is remarkably self-assured and meticulously produced, but such traits cannot disguise its throwback trappings. It’s hard to look away from its unfortunate backstory, and the music never really makes a point to consider it outside of its context.