Most pop songs are self-portraits, caricatures generally, in which an artist is poised firmly in the foreground of the frame, insisting on their centrality. To draw you in, pop musicians rely on a catchy melody, a witty lyric, or their own oversized personality. Not Karate Chad.
Each track on the six-song dream-pop album Best Friends is catchy, but it’s rarely a melody or lyric that jumps out and grabs you. It’s more subtle than that. It’s a feeling, an ambiance that seeps in and wraps around, holding you enthralled.
Chad’s penchant for the atmospheric can’t be overstated. If, as I’ve said, most pop songs are oversized self-portraits, his are landscape paintings in which the individual is of no more consequence than any other element, and certainly not the central focus.
Take his vocals for example. Vocals are the beating heart (or snarling face) of most pop songs, but in Karate Chad’s deft hands they are simply another texture, another instrument to layer on. Like clouds drifting across a massive sky, Chad’s vocals, often edged with distortion, deepen the atmosphere rather than draw one’s attention away from it.
Each song on Best Friends sounds huge. Swelling with synths, distorted guitars, reverb-soaked vocals and murmuring bass lines, each track plays like a world unto itself—full, but never too crowded.
I especially enjoyed “Halloween Tonight” and “Drowning,” but on an album like this, there’s hardly a point in recommending individual tracks. Just let the album play. Marinate for awhile. You’ll be happy you did. Fans of early Beach House should especially enjoy.
