by David Wilikofsky
To aficionados of underground pop, Blanche Blanche Blanche are legends. A rotating cast of musicians centered around the core duo of Zach Phillips and Sarah Smith, the group had an unparalleled run of albums from 2011 to 2014 that saw them exploring more musical ideas than most bands ever come up with. Seashells, their first statement in six years, is a self-assured return to form. Despite their lengthy absence, they’ve put together a record that captures the madcap energy of the project while continuing to evolve their musical language.
Imagine ripping open an orange only to find it completely empty, a perfectly formed peel filled with nothing but air. This describes the musical trompe-l’Εil that is Seashells. On a cursory listen it sounds like a slightly offbeat set of pop leaning songs, but listen closer and a far stranger picture emerges. There’s a faux-lounge tinge to tracks like “Seashells” or “Bought For Free”. The backing tracks on others (such as “Taking Umbrage”) bring to mind the MIDI experiments of artists on a label like Orange Milk. Most fall somewhere between the two, interpolating these electronic squeaks and squawks into pop structures. There’s always a tinge of oddity to the proceedings; some tracks feel stuffed to the brim with sound, while others are eerily spare and stripped down.
Fittingly, the writing also provides a little bit of everything. There’s the social satire of tracks such as “Blocked and Reported”, which mocks the empty and performative posturing that abounds on social media, and the surreal word salad of others like “I Prayed for Rain to Fall”. “Ask If You Can Ask”, an early highlight, demonstrates their demented sense of humor. Encouraged by a robotic voice, Smith asks both banal (“Do I have your consent to compliment your beautiful smile”) and deeply personal (“May I fingerblast you?”) questions. “Shoot your shot, just ask” the robot intones in the background. Meta jokes abound; the robot returns with its “shoot your shot” catchphrase multiple times throughout the album, never failing to make me laugh.
When I was a child, I had a cheap electric keyboard with a built in sampler. I never learned how to play it properly, but I spent plenty of time recording funny sounds and playing them in different keys. Seashells is the sound of professional musicians capturing that same spirit of childlike irreverence. There’s palpable joy in every moment of the record, whether they’re making a sly joke, providing pointed social commentary or giving a stream of consciousness rant. With twenty three tracks, most of which last less than two minutes, I haven’t come close to capturing all the brilliant moments here. It’s a record best experienced, another stellar entry into a catalog full of them.