Edward Sharpe And The Magnetic Zeros
In the 1960s Los Angeles was a thriving community of hipsters, daydreamers and visionaries who lived by their own laurels, carefree and footloose, unhindered by the pressure of modern day commodities and pompous properties. We all know the score. Impromptu porch jamming, drugged up desert exploration and a near-cult neighbourhood who sing, play and fuck one another on a regular basis.
For Edward Sharpe And The Magnetic Zeros this hedonistic habitat of simplicity is something of a utopian world, set apart from the iphone obsessed, computer glued generation of today. Rather than dribble over the new Adam Sandler flick and plasma flat screen’s, this unshaven, long haired gang of eclectic ‘69 throwbacks would feel it more fitting to hop into their greyhound tour bus and play any instrument they can get their hands on as they discuss various ways to open their minds.
Previously the top dog in Ima Robot, Edward Sharpe (real name Alex Ebert) appears to have embarked on some sort of abstract quixotic epiphany with his Magnetic Zeros who clap, stomp, strum and sing their way through a melodically mosaic-like debut that encases everyone from The Incredible String Band to Johnny Cash.
‘Up From Below’ opens with the stompin’ of ’40 Day Dream’. A joyous trample of folk-rock retro goodness that embodies the quirk of an acid-laden Arcade Fire, followed by the trouble-free harmony of ‘Janglin’ with its softly-sung sweet chorus of chipper whistles and buoyant horns. The spirit of California is certainly rife within this record, spaced out and psychedelic in parts, songs like ‘Come In Please’ reference cult citations like Kerouac and ’The Catcher In The Rye’ whilst beckoning like a pitch-peaking Love.
‘Home’ is absent of the musical nuttiness we hear on the blossoming openings of the record - a Carter and Cash county bop honing in on a subtle side of this unpredictable band that has yet been heard. Its bizarre and noticeably narcotic sense-making lyrics like ’Hot and heavy pumpkin pie/ chocolate candy Jesus Christ’ formulate about as much sense as Kasabain’s ’Cut Off’, but it’s strangely salvaged by some rather more adoring penning’s that demonstrate mutual adulation between two lovers drawn to the heart of home.
At certain points this record can seem a little cluttered and unsure of itself. The direction is understandable but it looses its footing at times, dipping mid-way into a hole of eerie, full mooned weirdness with songs such as ‘Desert Song‘ and ‘Simplest Love’ proving a little too extrovert, minimal and absent of any graspable excitement - but thankfully its finest moments outshine its irresolute ones. As the album closes its thirteen track journey with ‘Om Nashi Me’, an atmospheric wail of full bodied jingles, jangles and everything in between, we can quite comfortably state that this first effort of nostalgia and recollection is not half bad.