Painted Palms - Forever

Painted Palms
Forever
14 January 2014
Polyvinyl

3 stars out of 5

Whenever a record is hyped because of how it was made rather than whether or not it’s worth listening to, there is the risk that the method will overshadow the music. The two cousins who comprise San Francisco’s (though originally Louisiana’s) Painted Palms collaborate over email despite living in the same city. This songwriting process originated while the pair lived in separate states for a period of time and continued after they were reunited. It’s not exactly an original process, as artists have been doing similar things since broadband internet became a widespread thing. And, frankly, once can’t really tell from listening to Forever that the two musicians weren’t in the same room while writing it. So, rather than let the process overshadow the rest of this review, let’s move on to the music itself.

You’re going to hear comparisons to Of Montreal from most sources, probably because Painted Palms were discovered by Kevin Barnes and the reviewers are too lazy to dig deeper. The PPs are nowhere near as dark as de Montréal, not nearly as over-the-top-pop, and are far fonder of blissed-out reverb-drenched vocals à la classic shoegaze. So, let’s dispense with the lazy comparisons to the OMs, as the two groups really have little in common apart from that they’re both from the South and they both play pop music. Except… okay, the lead-off track “Too High” really does sound a bit like Of Montreal. From there, the albums drifts further and further away from this starting point, until by the time the closing “Angels” comes along Painted Palms have established their own identity and distinct sound.

So, after the hype and the comparisons, what we have in Forever is an album of sweet pop tunes full of programmed beats and swirly synths. It’s a fun if uninvolving listen. If you buy the vinyl you’ll have a good record to ignore as background noise while you entertain your hipster guests with almond milk lattes and vegan, gluten-free tapas. (By which I mean olives. You’d just have olives. And sun-dried tomatoes. No wonderful cheese or chorizo. Mmm.) This is an enjoyable record while you’re listening to it, but there’s not much here that will get its hooks into you and keep you coming back for repeated listens.

reviewed by Richard Krueger