Like a sleeping dragon coming out of its slumber, Dallas Texas-based The Deathray Davies have come here with two goals, bring back classic indie rock vibes and get a little deep about changing times. I’m not super surprised by the latter since it has been a long decade and a half since their last release, 2005s The Kick and the Snare. To be real, I’m super clear on why the group hasn’t released anything between then and now because this album seriously impresses.

At times filled with memorable quirks like distorted terrapin noises and fun distorted background vocals to a sample of audience noises that even make you long for when concerts were a thing (Now THAT feels like it was 15 years ago). It sounds like the soundtrack to a Zach Braff movie, but back when he made good movies. Don’t expect any heavy electronic sounds beyond maybe the switchboard interfered female voice you hear on “Talking With Friends” which is exactly as it sounds, singer John Dufilho catching up with some old buddies and hearing something change, but some things never change with the funny chorus beat of “and everyone knows Mark is a no-show”. It’s a really fun album if you’re looking for something a little more slice of life that also finds a way to dig deeper. It has the effect that I can imagine a lot of people loving where even the most upbeat guitar strum heavy, energetic thumping drums has some pretty dark undertones.

Production-wise this thing is super clean and you can tell The Davies haven’t lost any of the magic from earlier releases. I think this album will most speak to mid-twenties people burnt out with how crummy life and the people around you can be sometimes, and if you’re a fan of Jon Brion (if you don’t know who that is, google him he’s a lot more prolific than you’re aware of) and his only single singing album “Meaningless” you’ll probably love this album. I think younger listeners who don’t have a refined musical pallet might be off-put by the more vintage-inspired sounds.

The name Deathray Davies comes from the Kinks lead Ray Davies and you can tell these guys have learned a lot from them not just in terms of escalation and fun delivery and production, but also how they tell stories first and foremost that range from heartbreaking (“Don’t Let Me Fall” will just stab you in the heart) to even a super silly track that’s nearly four minutes long and is about waiting for someone who has the wifi password. It’ll be interesting to see if the bands’ next release (which hopefully won’t come out in 2059 or some extended flying car future) will evolve their sound or if there comfortable staying in their retro lane, but even if they do stick to their early 2000s roots, I can’t imagine it feeling stale or overdone. My real only complaint is that sometimes the album can feel long, but there’s a lot of variety that you might not even notice. Also, can we get a vinyl release, please? It’s a must-listen.

John McCall