Fair Ohs Everything is Dancing

Bands love to cross-pollinate with any form of artistry that is unfamiliar to their respective inheritance. Usually those who are blindly fascinated by what they can’t physically witness will try harder to avoid any contemptuous ridicule. The newest band prone to that question is Fair Ohs, a trio of East Londoners ready to cross the Atlantic in hopes of leaving flowers on the graves of Lord Kitchener and Mighty Sparrow. Instead of leading like vanguards, their rhythmic-centric tropical punk glares into the indie circuit a few years after Vampire Weekend and Abe Vigoda made the lives of languid PR descriptors much easier.

As it usually happens with non-natives who approach diversity too on the nose, Everything is Dancing’s brisk, sun-drenched vibe suffers from communication interference. If it weren’t for the slight accent, Fair Ohs could be mistaken as a ratty, Los Angeles ensemble making regular appearances at reeking basements and gritty clubs. But instead of adding their own flavor, their frame of reference reflects the tribal-indie nuptial Westerners ripened for a younger audience in 2008, which in itself was borne out of a similar scenario with seventies art-school punks. Fair Ohs third person perspective puts them in a challenging conundrum – that of gaining acceptance with passé sounds at the same time as trying to convince the ADD-addled generation that it still sounds fresh in today's sought after synthpop market.

Everything is Dancing cruises through its ten tracks with hardly any transgressions – jagged guitars, joint yelping, and Afro-Caribbean inspired drum patterns consume its entirely without the slightest surprise. Fair Ohs’ compliance to frantic verse structures collide with frontman Eddy Frankel’s mid-pitch vocal chanting range, who does generate the same dance hopping energy Michael Vidal brought to his sharp guitar tones with Skeleton. As infectious as they translate, tracks like Yah and Colours opt to fizzle their energy with trite linear outros that make them come off as befuddled musicians who are adamant about sounding distinctive.  It doesn’t help that throughout Everything is Dancing, messy instrumental interludes interject the festive aura, as if they can’t control a compulsion to pride themselves as odder than they actually are on paper. 

Fair Ohs do pin down their secondhand sources with much gusto – the problem lies in how there’s a considerable lack of self-identity behind the jovial impersonation. If only they'd stick with the pop sheen of the album's title track, which communicates (what sounds like) a tambura with electrifying rapport like witnessing a contagious Bollywood finale. Not as rational as Vampire Weekend, nor as roughly frenetic as Abe Vigoda, they tread a middle ground between casual accessibility and calculated execution. Without that much needed trumpet blast to announce their arrival as indie’s next best thing, the only thing that’ll keep them afloat is the future promise of a new alteration, or perhaps a more conscientious study of their influences. As it stands, I’m not sure about what kind of California they’re dreaming about.