Jody Hughes
Jody Hughes
Self-distributed
Taking his cue from trickle-down economics and Pac-Man, Jody Hughes fashions neuvo new wave.
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Japanic
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One-man prog-rock band Jody Hughes and the synth-pop quintet Japanic apparently desire the same thing: that it were 1981 once more.
Pac-Man. Dungeons & Dragons. Christie Brinkley. The dawn of MTV. And let's not forget the peak of new wave, in which, even for the briefest of moments, the nerds were the popular ones on campus. The campy, subversive but less destructive companion to punk, new wave -- with its sinewy synthesizers, scampering guitar riffs and robotic vocalizing -- was music for the Commodore 64 crowd. Both Hughes and Japanic have turned their albums into revisionist valentines to that gone-but-not-forgotten era.
While oddball on the surface, this longing for the recent past comes off quaint and sincere. While Japanic is joyously accessible, Hughes and his little Moog-rock sensibilities appeal to the artsy-fartsy Brian Eno crowd. Neither band appears self-conscious or pretentious.
In his own blisteringly ironic fashion, Hughes revisits the avant-garde posturing that helped create new wave back in the day. Using relatively obsolete equipment, such as analog synthesizers, Hughes composes experimental, utterly minimalistic works that die-hard Kraftwerk fans would love. He revamps tunes from such unlikely sources as Black Sabbath, Mötley Cr¨e and Sonic Youth and turns them into tongue-in-cheek techno flukes, the kind of pop culture-saturated stuff teens of the '80s used to play on their Casios. He even finds a place to mix in the theme from The Rockford Files.
Sometimes Hughes winks so hard while composing that he verges on eye spasms, particularly on "Coca Cola," when he sneaks in "Bicycle Built for Two" (an obvious reference to HAL 2000, the mutiny-minded computer that favored the song in 2001: A Space Odyssey) or on "V1 schneider," when he recites lines from the sci-fi cult film Liquid Sky. You can't help but be mildly fascinated with Hughes and his nostalgia, or, as he calls it, his "retrofuturistic" style.
Japanic's album is a little more fleshed out. This kooky group of one woman and four men rekindles new wave at its freewheeling best, sending along bouncy beats, wild-eyed guitars and funked-out keyboards. You can practically list the new-wave influences as the band rips into eccentric, spry numbers such as "The Problem with a German Name," "Golden Radio" and "Orpheus Express." There's an instant attraction here even if you do wonder whether the band's performing for you or your parents.
Tex Kerschen lays down the quasi-fey, off-kilter vocals, which are regularly the "call" part in the call-and-response shtick between Kerschen and vocalist/ keyboardist Margeux Cigainero. The subject matter certainly sounds like the stuff of ostracized young folk: wishing away popular chicks on "Fakers Are Makers" and "Fake Fur Lolita," or spreading conspiracy-strewn paranoia on "Animal Streak" and "3D-ID." The band also has a taste for the satirical, as evidenced on "Cutthroat," in which it pretends to forsake "intellectual stuff" for "bad ideas."
The smarty-pants stylishness of Hughes and Japanic may evoke indifference from those who think the bands are just put-on artists. After all, they're tapping into the Reagan years for inspiration. But since both acts wear their affections for Atari bloops and bleeps on their Cavaricci sleeves, they leave little critical space to invade.
