THE INTELLIGENCE - FAKE SURFERS [2009]

"It'd be stupid to call your band the Intelligence without showing signs of progress and evolution. And over the course of four albums, the now full-time project of ex-A Frames drummer Lars Finberg has loosened up its formative post-punk pessimism to the point that the band's chosen MySpace URL-- www.myspace.com/theworldisadrag-- feels more ironic with each record. Rather than simply protest the indignities of modern life, on Fake Surfers, Finberg goes about creating a sanctuary from it, inviting in friends from fellow unsung West Coast indie rock acts (and, in one instance, covering their songs) to form a secret, protective society that will ensure the survival of rational-thinking species in a world where brain cells are being eroded 140 characters at a time
The Intelligence's previous release, 2007's Deuteronomy, was notable for its more focused songcraft and cleaner presentation, but Fake Surfers doesn't continue these new adventures in hi-fi. Rather, it plays to the Intelligence's extremes, casting a more pronounced British Invasion pop influence in warped, peak-level lo-fi sonics, emphasizing a connection between post-punk and psychedelia that stretches from Clinic and Guided by Voices through the deconstructionist pop of Swell Maps and Wire and back to the whimsical wordsmithery of Syd Barrett and Skip Spence. (That said, Fake Surfers practically sounds like Dark Side of the Moon compared to Crepuscule With Pacman, a concurrently released collection of more discordant, half-formed material issued via French indie Born Bad.)
Fake Surfers' noise/pop affinities seemingly align it with the current lo-fi vogue fostered by Slumberland and Slitbreeze Records sets, with the tambourine-rattled "Taxman" strut of "Tower" and bobble-headed harmonies of "Universal Babysitter" suggesting mid-1960s Beatles had they been signed to Rough Trade Records in 1978. But the Intelligence are distinguished by the way they push the limits of their claustrophobic space; their most intriguing moments often result when they lay off the distortion pedal, exposing the creepy voices and radio frequencies that overwhelm the swinging-60s go-go groove of "Saint Bartolomeu" and the circular circus melodies driving the electro-stroll of "I Hear Depression". And while it seems like faint praise to say the best song on Fake Surfers is its lone cover, the breezily strummed rendition of L.A. new-wave hot dogs Wounded Lion's "Pony People" feels like the song Finberg's been waiting to sing his whole life. Lord knows what it says about the man that he's never sounded happier than when singing from the perspective of a centaur "firing arrows into rabbits." But in the case of Fake Surfers, such emotional breakthroughs are worth sacrificing a bunny or two."
listen