Let's start with a guilty confession: I rarely take the time to check out opening bands that I don't know prior to a show. Worse, I often plan on getting there late so I don't have to sit through an overlong, boring act, buying three pints in the process. It's because of this kind of douchebag mentality that I barely caught the last song in Cale Parks' opening set for Passion Pit in Northampton, MA (way back when), which I regret to this day. Luckily, I wasn't THAT late gettng to Deerhunter's Parisian show last month. Thus I became acquainted with Bachelorette.
What a lame, lame name, I thought to myself as I bought my first pint of the evening, reading it off a piece of paper loosely taped to a dirty wall. Still, because the room was somewhat empty, I made my way towards the front of the stage. Two laptops, two mics, a guitar, a trumpet and keyboards, if I remember correctly, were already set up. Soon, Bachelorette took the stage. Fittingly (har har) she was alone up there.
And very quickly, tears came to my eyes. "I repent!" is what I wanted to yell. Thank you, Lord of Good Music, for having proved me wrong once again. Because yes, Bachelorette's show was fucking beautiful, for lack of a better word. Playing off clean, sampled guitar loops and drum patterns, patiently adding elements to her songs so that they bloomed into full, familiar-yet-intriguing universes, Bachelorette's main advantage was her voice: versatile, it alternated between soft and vibrant, and instantly evoked a long history of equally dazzling singer-songwriters, while still remaining pretty unique. When she sampled that voice of hers into soaring harmonies, as she did on several songs, I wished I had a big bouquet of roses to throw onstage.
On My Electric Family, her latest album, Bachelorette — who, by the way, is named Annabel Alpers, and comes from New-Zealand — builds a delicate psychedelic nest for her voice to populate with crystalline, instantly memorable melodies. Although Alpers works with machines a lot, she's closer to sixties folk legends like Vashti Bunyan or blissed-out la-la bands like The Mamas and the Papas than to eighties, Kate Bush-y divas. From gorgeous opening track "Instructions for Insomniacs" to the delightful closure of "Little Bird Tells Lies," each of Alpers' songs feels like a friend, a warm pillow, a hot cup of black tea on a freezing winter evening, a cool reflection in a raindrop… Seemingly mundane things that, when you stop to think about them, reveal themselves to be the backbone of your everyday happiness.
Bottom line is, My Electric Family doesn't invent or even reinvent anything. But as a humble pack of absolute gems, it's a record that could — and should — be loved by everyone. Especially YOU.
My Electric Family (Drag City, 2009)
FC
This DOES sound like a daydream
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