Chicklet – Lemon Chandeliers – Review

Chicklet

Lemon Chandeliers (Satellite)
by Jamie Kiffel

This is the kind of pop that is, as my friend Lorien might smile and say, without a trace of over-sentimentality, “just lovely.” With tunes that rise and fall in pigtail-bouncing chromatic progressions, this sort of music lends itself to being sung in loud, easy harmonies while cruising down I-95 with the wind whipping through the open sunroof and a Waffle House coming up on the right. The lyrics are of the low-budget order, with such stirring evocations as “Please, understand how I feel ’cause it makes me want to be understood.” Still, the comfortably usual and well-done formula of “catchy intro/chorus/bridge/chorus/satisfyingly-foreseeable-chord-ending” works surprisingly well with Julie Park’s clear, anger- and pain-free vocals. Daniel Barida lends his easy tenor to every other track on the disc, producing an occasional aural flashback of ’70s Squeeze. “Kyopo,” a grudgeless tune about making sense of being a foreigner abroad (“They don’t understand that this could never be my land… I’ve traveled far away; they’re all stayin’ home”), opens with a guitar march that is close cousins with the first bars of The Partridge Family’s “I Think I Love You” (another silly song that never fails to drag me right into belting out its chorus in the most embarrassing of situations). Hints of R.E.M.’s ’80s passion for “la-la”s and “ba-ba-ba”s bring up happy memories of poolside pop, while a Brady Bunch-esque wah-pedal indulgence with massive cathedral reverb on “Frown” invokes the rare feeling that inspired you to wear gingham elephant bells to Earth Day last year. It’s silly, it’s brainless, and it makes you feel good. Chicklet is a bright reminder that music doesn’t need always need to eviscerate you in order to reach your heartstrings.