What's the opposite of indie sleaze? Indie wholesomeness? Whatever it is, that's what Phoenix are: an aughts indie throwback with all of the grit smoothed off and the drunken hedonism replaced by giddy exuberance and heart-swelling sweetness.
Phoenix in 2022 sound pretty much identical to how they did at the peak of their powers (i.e. 2009's Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix), with squeaky clean guitars and ping-pong around bouncy beats and buzzing synths that gesture vaguely at the notion of "indie rock" despite the arrangements being predominantly electronic.
Alpha Zulu's opener — which is both its title track and lead single — initially suggests a brash new direction for the band, its robo-voiced riff resembling a rave banger and the knowingly obnoxious "WOO HA / Singing halle-LU-JAH" refrain sounding like it was plucked out of a party rap chorus. That "WOO HA" hook reemerges in late-album dance thumper "All Eyes on Me," but it's otherwise a red herring — by the second track, "Tonight," Pheonix are back to the business as usual, with bubbly bass syncopations and a head-rush chorus akin to "Lisztomania." There's even a verse sung by Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig — hiccupy vocal quirks and all — just in case it didn't already sound enough like something that could have come out in 2009.
Much like 2017's Ti Amo, Alpha Zulu has a romantic warmth that transcends lyrics, which evade interpretation, often melting into the melody but occasionally snagging the ear with a beautiful turn of phrase — like how singer Thomas Mars rhymes "Nova Scotia" with a reference to Dominican diplomat (and famed Lothario) "Rubirosa" on the perfectly Phoenix-y strut of "Artefact," or the hilariously specific "I must have died at 51 in 1953" in "Alpha Zulu."
On closer (and On the Rocks soundtrack cut) "Identical," with its playfully somersaulting toms and THX Deep Note synths, Mars ends the album with this well-meaning piece of non-advice: "I'm no prophet, I'm your friend / Take my advice, make your mistakes." For an album that was recorded following lockdowns, after the New York-based Mars was finally able to reunite with his bandmates in Paris, this is a reassuring sentiment: he doesn't have any answers to the world's ills, because no one does, but he's got your back.
It's a fitting bow to place on top of an album that often feels like a trip back to the aughts — a period that, at least in hindsight, is tempting to remember as a simpler time.
(Glassnote)Phoenix in 2022 sound pretty much identical to how they did at the peak of their powers (i.e. 2009's Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix), with squeaky clean guitars and ping-pong around bouncy beats and buzzing synths that gesture vaguely at the notion of "indie rock" despite the arrangements being predominantly electronic.
Alpha Zulu's opener — which is both its title track and lead single — initially suggests a brash new direction for the band, its robo-voiced riff resembling a rave banger and the knowingly obnoxious "WOO HA / Singing halle-LU-JAH" refrain sounding like it was plucked out of a party rap chorus. That "WOO HA" hook reemerges in late-album dance thumper "All Eyes on Me," but it's otherwise a red herring — by the second track, "Tonight," Pheonix are back to the business as usual, with bubbly bass syncopations and a head-rush chorus akin to "Lisztomania." There's even a verse sung by Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig — hiccupy vocal quirks and all — just in case it didn't already sound enough like something that could have come out in 2009.
Much like 2017's Ti Amo, Alpha Zulu has a romantic warmth that transcends lyrics, which evade interpretation, often melting into the melody but occasionally snagging the ear with a beautiful turn of phrase — like how singer Thomas Mars rhymes "Nova Scotia" with a reference to Dominican diplomat (and famed Lothario) "Rubirosa" on the perfectly Phoenix-y strut of "Artefact," or the hilariously specific "I must have died at 51 in 1953" in "Alpha Zulu."
On closer (and On the Rocks soundtrack cut) "Identical," with its playfully somersaulting toms and THX Deep Note synths, Mars ends the album with this well-meaning piece of non-advice: "I'm no prophet, I'm your friend / Take my advice, make your mistakes." For an album that was recorded following lockdowns, after the New York-based Mars was finally able to reunite with his bandmates in Paris, this is a reassuring sentiment: he doesn't have any answers to the world's ills, because no one does, but he's got your back.
It's a fitting bow to place on top of an album that often feels like a trip back to the aughts — a period that, at least in hindsight, is tempting to remember as a simpler time.
