Written by: Dave Cantrell

OK, so, admittedly it’s a heavy and decidedly unfair burden to place before you a ‘mere’ new indie album in hopes of allaying one’s lurking anxieties but given the dollop upon dollop of insane corruption slop that our phones greet us with every…stinking…morning I nonetheless try anyway and with that aim in mind cannot but be indebtedly grateful for the arrival (May 8th on the ever reliable Tapete Records), as if by some sort of splendid pop fiat, of the latest from the damn near legendary, certainly indefatigable four-piece The Loft and am betting that you will be as well.

Now, to dispense with it straightaway, an essential thread to the fabric that wraps this band in its own unique mystique is, rather infamously, the fact that, shortly after two quite deservedly well-received singles (“Why Does the Rain” in ’84, “Up the Hill and Down the Slope ’85), they broke up in the most public way imaginable which is to say live on stage mid-set at the Hammersmith Palais. But, unlike just about all such similar schisms – especially that early in their trajectory – The Loft came deftly roaring some forty years later with last year’s aptly titled LP Everything Changes Everything Stays the Same (check this doc for the inside dope on that fabulous resurrection) which proved that no irrespressible pop genie will, if the proper music gods have anything to say about it, remain trapped in one of history’s murky little bottles forever. And, indeed, as if to double down, here they are again in all their full ebullient wherewithal with second full-length Badges, arriving manna-like on all the likely platforms (not to mention physical media as well, of course, links below) and, well, wow, however kind of quietly, quite the arrival, quite the arrival indeed.

Announcing itself with a boisterous, jangling scurry that immediately flips the switch that in turn turns on the flashy neon sign behind them flashing “TIMELESS! TIMELESS! TIMELESS!,” first track “Happenstance” wastes no time in establishing anew the ‘breathless eternal pop’ reputation for which this Loft lot (Pete Astor & Andy Strickland guitars/vox, Dave Morgan drums, Bill Prince bass) has long been known and in an instant the ghost of Postcard and countless other indie icons, not to mention the band’s fans, have jumped up out of their chairs and are dancing (however carefully) a bit maniacally in the aisles, your correspondent not the least among them.

And, so, alright, we’re underway and what a way to be under and there is no real stint throughout, not really. I mean, sure, “Sad Comedian,” following, carries with it its title’s implied melancholy but nonetheless even it is animated by a kind of undying resilience which, let’s be honest, is the kernel of the gist of the above-mentioned timeless pop music and has been forever and these guys know it, boy do they.

That knowledge is there in its subtle spades in the lush emulsion of “1955,” blending in one three-and-a-half minute moment a flow of personal nostalgia artfully swirled into the forever memories held inside an ancient Ecko television screen, resulting in something like a vintage greyscale postcard mailed straight to your heart by a long gone beloved grandparent and, yeah, ain’t that something coming from a ‘mere’ pop song but, again, it’s that none-more-poignant chime of those past moments made somehow visible that this lot can’t help but specialize in.

Take “Ex-Lovers and Long Lost Brothers” wherein those once crucial actors that are so prominent in all our stories flash past sans reciprocal acknowledgement, making of our memories an apparition (“Saw you on Charing Cross Road/on the longest day//I tried to catch your eye/you looked away“). Take the damn near – in the finest way, mind – rockist “Goodbye Saturday Night” that, despite its open admission that certain edifices of that same ‘everlasting youth’ are best regarded through the rearview mirror, ranks among this fan’s fave Astor asides and anyone that knows me knows that’s saying something. But, hey, include the lyric “I remember Crayford Road, goodbye/and the revolutionary architects, goodbye/and the stuffed toy hanging by its neck from your ceiling light” and you’ve got me at “I remember…”

That said, even if that track had not had that effect, well, hell, it’s followed by the irascible “C’mon Let’s Hear It For the Now” that (counter)acts like an artful contrarian to its forerunner, its light, ringing jaunt deftly deflecting from the song’s central theme which is basically a gentle-yet-scathing take on the ever-tempting tendency in these times to allow ourselves to simply go traipsing into escapism (“Even though I wanted to leave/I took a pill and believed//now I live the tinsel dream/a paid up member of the team is how it opens so, yeah, in a nutshell etc I for one will always be rather amazed by the way Mr. Astor can take the relatively dire and convert it into pop gold but then again that’s what the best songwriters are meant to do and the guy’s strike rate has never been less than spot on).

None of which suitably prepares for the sweet sunset twinge of “Junk Shop, “the daily ache and the yesterdays/and all the tomorrows/throw them away” it says among an atmosphere that suggests a mournful fatalism that, as per the Loft, can’t help but find you swaying in something damn close to a swoon and that’s, well, what it is, a gentle genius that nonetheless takes the hard swipes because the guy behind the pen and then the microphone knows, as the saying goes, ‘what time it is.’ Which leaves us where the Loft leaves us this time around which is “Rob Rides the Sunset,” its tone and the language that corresponds an epitome of the pop poignant that just happens to contain the line “it doesn’t get much better than this” that, despite the drift of irony therein context-wise, could not more concisely say what needs to be exactly said regarding the quality of this release. So, y’know, just buy the bloody thing already.