I saw The Cults at their album launch in London last year and then again last weekend at Laneway and the experience has reinforced what has been bothering me for awhile: why is indie music currently so obsessed with idea of being an eight year old?
Last year, through their obvious nervousness, the lead singer’s anxious skimming of her hems felt genuine. Six months later it was more she was awkwardly still having to play that character and sing the childish aspiration to ‘go outside’.
And not just the content of the songs but this theme has crept into the sound. That hammy xylophone patch that starts The Cult’s key song is just one in a litany of an imagined second infancy. It feels like everyone is picking up an ukulele. Think of The Look by Metronomy, a great song, which is recorded purposefully as if by a child playing with toy box instruments. Then there’s the youths which adorn the cover of the new M83 album or that Jinja Safari song called ‘Peter Pan’.
It feels hypocritical that Pitchfork would turn around and accuses the Lana Del Ray album of emotional immaturity.
