Tigercity

Your inner music curmudgeon died suddenly of heart failure. The funeral featured plenty of Joy Division, a special appearance by a criminally underappreciated indie band, and a eulogy by the editors of Pitchfork. There was nothing to do when you got home but clear out his belongings. You donated his clothes (mostly black, but with some earth tones) to charity, and his albums to that 20-something with ambitious facial hair working at the neighborhood coffeeshop. 

When you returned home, it was just too quiet, so you put on Pandora and typed in Owl City, Hall & Oates and Spandau Ballet. Out of the speakers came the music of Tigercity. Suddenly you were shimmying your shoulders and bobbing your head, cutting the rug with a goofy smile on your face for the first time in years. Sure, the yacht rock and disco-loving quartet couldn’t have chosen a less fashionable set of music touchstones. But the willowy lite-rock melodies, bustling beats, and new wave synth-pop washes coalesce into a sound so uncool it kind crosses into hip. And hey, they’re from Brooklyn, which kind of seals the deal. 

Consciously seeking to avoid that “scratchy post-punk guitar sound” that’s presumably a housewarming present for every musician that moves to New York, Tigercity’s released two albums (2008’s Pretend Not To Love and last year’s Ancient Lover) since their formation in 2004. Both explore a retro sound untouched by almost anyone under 35. Singer Bill Gillim’s skywriting falsetto recalls the Bee Gees ladled over bright percolating music that blends the spindly snare-heavy funk of Chic and the watercolor pastel synths of ’80s charttoppers such as Berlin, Animotion and ABC. Even without the breakbeats, it’s more lively than your typical indietronic malingerer, proving more infectious than a classroom of kindergartners with a cold. Get past your inner-hater. Feel the love. —Chris Parker