Crawdaddy!

Summer Cats
by Michael Miller • July 15, 2009
Summer CatsSongs for Tuesdays(Slumberland, 2009)
I’m not sure what Tuesdays are like in Melbourne, where Summer Cats call home, but in America, that second day of the work week—when the last weekend is already a distant memory and the next one feels like an impossible wish—goes something like this:

Humanity: [Groan] Why me?

Summer Cats’ debut full-length feels more like rainbows, unicorns, sparkles, things like that. They should have called the fucker, you know, Antidote for Tuesdays. But who am I to nitpick?
The first distorted chords of opener “Let’s Go!” are the perfect introduction to the band: Dirty, fast, and simple. A quickly strummed second guitar comes in, followed by a wonderfully retro organ. Add a dash of bright, enthusiastic vocals, and you have the formula for the entire album. It sounds like Nuggets and has the psych-rock album artwork to match. “Let’s Go!” is barely longer than two minutes and is followed by more of the same: Chugging guitars, simplistic drums (think Moe Tucker), and relentlessly tight Beach Boys-esque harmonies (it feels too ironic to call anything produced by Australia “sun-drenched,” what with the hole in the ozone and everything, but that’s the standard rock-crit term for the group’s singing style).

Only one song here clocks in at over three minutes. The album races along at a speed that would make the first Ramones’ record sweat. Along the way, there’s all kinds of ’60s influences—early Motown, skuzzy garage rock, some Lennon-McCartney melodies—and though the band thanks labelmates the Pains of Being Pure at Heart in the acknowledgements, there’s very little of the reverb-drenched shoegaze sound being produced by Slumberland Records right now. There’s clarity to the recording: You not only hear, but feel—right in the middle of your skull—each instrument being played. The voices boom with the confidence of people who know they can really sing—no tricks to mask insecurities. How rare is that?

And no, there’s nothing groundbreaking here—no sounds to make you push your eyebrows together, no melodies to make you re-evaluate your definition of pop music. But there are plenty of songs to wake you the hell up. You’d have to be pretty cold to not smile at these Australians’ clever lyrical quips, like this one from “Maybe Pile”: “And your kiss? / Is definitely top of my list / And your love? / Your love, kisses, and such? / I’d like them very much!”
Summer Cats’ idea of slowing things down comes with the back-to-back high school drama of “In June” and “Wild Rice” (each contains the rare presence on Tuesdays of minor chords). The pangs of lost adolescent love are kept from being too much of a downer by each song’s vicious speed. They add a touch of heartbreak without losing any momentum.

And in just over 30 minutes, it’s over. The album ends and it’s like getting the wind punched out of you. It’s done already? Yep, 13 songs in under 32 minutes—each whittled down to nothing but emotion and hooks. This is pop music in its purest form; sometimes just a verse and a chorus with everything dull left out. Play it on a Tuesday and get through the week faster.

Crawdaddy