Daring to deliver a formidable follow-up to 2014’s career-defining comeback They Want My Soul with anything less than yet another prestigious leap-forward through the archival-vignettes of alternative-rock majesty, indie-pioneers, Spoon have once again stolen the prize in a fervent effort to quench the thirst of devotee’s everywhere via the unthinkable song-strung, synth-pop opus amidst their own longwinded stamina. The refreshing aspect revealing the true nature of the genius that is Spoon, Hot Thoughts accomplishes a staggering-feat of seismic proportions.
Although this indie-rock n’roll schtick is anything but fresh abroad a towering scene of musical-curmudgeon-folk, few ongoing listeners prone to the crowds truly realize these hipster-stalwarts hailing from the hill-country-land of Austin, TX wrote what is now the proverbial bible on low-fi alternative, laying the groundwork for many to follow. Britt Daniels and his gang of multifaceted-misfitted-players never set out to make music history by propelling this sonic-wave in motion, they’ve merely stuck to what they know best following an impressive career-spanning 20-years to solidify themselves among the greater pantheon of underground-rock virtuoso’s at large.
Hoisted on the affirmative helms of creative-revery sits the Flaming Lips’ own accustomed producer, Dave Fridmann shelling-out his own bag of tricks to aid an already trippy-bridled sleigh of post-punk propulsion at its single most revealing moment. Fridmann’s fingerprints are assuredly smudged in savy-pizzaz all over (in a good way) such ditties: “Do I Have To Talk You Into It,” “WhisperI’lllistentohearit, and the jolting, repetitive one-liner: “Hot Thoughts.”
If Spoon’s most-recent previous LP, They Want My Soul was their inevitable return to form and redemption by route of soulful careening through the causeways of introspection, then Hot Thoughts is to represent true-marks of innovation into uncharted territory. Lighter and so much more of a bold move considering the color-palette in which they invest most their time, the synth-powered-flux of a brazen-record finds itself baring the ghost of David Bowie’s Berlin-trilogy on cuts: “First Caress,” “Pink Up,” and even the smooth-jazz-infused closer, “Us.” Anthemic tracks: “I Ain’t the One,” “Tear It Down,” and the always-explosive end-of-album charmer, “Shotgun” fare the closest to the band’s earlier work. By point in fact, any one of these closing tracks could’ve ultimately found their way onto Spoon’s: Gimme Fiction or Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. It’s simply a testament to how indelibly-timeless they seemingly are.
Although new to the color-scheme corridor of sonic-excess, all the previous core-elements of Spoon are still there lurking at the foundation of what lies the future of a band ne’er a call to slow down and sail the lanes of easy-street. Consummately driven by Brit Daniel’s raspy-raz-mataz thrust of vocal-crooning, the message is nevertheless the same as it ever was: simple-structured verse/chorus/verse songwriting, only this time rhythmically-flavored to insure four-feet on the-floor dance grooves toppled by snarky-guitar riffs trekking the boulevard’s of funky-town.