What, exactly, are The Front Bottoms? They’re not “punk,” but the power chords and sheer simplicity of instrumentation seem to speak for themselves. They’re not “folk,” but all the guitar on the record is acoustic and the lyrics shine with irrevocable intimacy. And they’re not “indie-pop,” but there are very few points during the Front Bottoms’ self-titled album at which it would feel inappropriate, tapping one’s foot—the record is dance-oriented, to say the very least. They’ve been qualified by many as an amalgam of genres and after hearing their new album, one would be hard-pressed to disagree. It would seem the two-member Front Bottoms are a bit of everything: their sound spans more than a few genres, their words form vivid illustrations of their lives—both in suburban New Jersey and in the van, on the road—and their songs contain a sweeping swath of self-made meaning and self-deprecation, both in terms of production (lo-fi versus intricate production technique) and lyrical prowess. The Front Bottoms are so much more than the sum of their parts.

The album kicks off with “Flashlight,” which starts with a tasteful, simple acoustic riff; then, the first dance beat of the record drops and with it, an undeniable energy foments and refuses to subside throughout the rest of the album. Upon first listen, singer Brian Sella almost sounds a bit like a young Tom Delonge, with that certain whine to his voice, a quiver that smacks of youthful and earnest intimacy. Sella’s voice seems to fit his lyrics perfectly, creating a sense of honesty that causes fans to “trust” a band—that is, to buy into the story they’ve written for themselves and want to continue to follow this story and its writers as they mature. “Flashlight,” an ultra-catchy number that features trumpet work and handclaps over dance beats, establishes the pop sensibilities of the record, which are complimented by hilariously realist lyrical lines like, “she says a lot of the kids we graduated with are now homeless, which puts them in mad shady situations with mad shady people if not every day, than on an every-other-day basis.”

From there, the album progresses smoothly, holding consistent musical and lyrical themes throughout. The second song on the album, “Maps,” is just as catchy as the first cut and recalls The Talking Heads’s “Once In A Lifetime” with its imagery: “One day, you’ll be washing yourself with hand soap in a public bathroom and thinking, ‘how did I get here, where the hell am I?’” The demonstrative tapestry that Sella waves—that “show, don’t tell” illustrative quality that they hammered into you in high school English—becomes all the more vivid on songs like “Looking Like You Just Woke Up,” which starts with a super-specific list of a few simple things the narrator loves and “Father,” which presents the listener with the tragicomic metaphor of beating one’s own father with a baseball bat.

There’s also the slightest bit of social commentary on the album, blended seamlessly into the depictions of coming of age in suburbia (growing up in New Jersey seems to imbue the state’s native artists with a unique mindset). On “Mountain,” Sella delivers a brief anecdote on the merits of hiding your activities from all-seeing eye and ubiquity of social media: “I bought fireworks, a big bag in Pennsylvania. I’m gonna light ‘em up when I get home to Jersey // They’ll probably arrest me, they’ll probably ruin my whole summer // Stop taking pictures with your phone.”

As the album progresses, the songs get a bit darker and more heavy, lyrically speaking, while maintaining the same energy, pop-orientation, and infective dance beats throughout. “Swimming Pool” is an auditory fracas, with notable piano work and a mid-section on which two voice mail messages are played; the song is the only one on the album that actually switches time signatures (more in terms of feel than actual signature), using an a-tempo acoustic riff during the bridge to make the change from a straightforward 4/4 feel to a more laid-back 12/8 feel. The overall musicality of the record and the choice of instrumentation become all the more intriguing on tracks like “Legit Tattoo Gun,” which features an awesomely kitschy 80s synth tone and “The Boredom is the Reason I Started Swimming, It’s Also the Reason I Started Sinking,” on which one can hear dark, reverb-laden group vocals, an overly-present bell kit riff, and a couple of American Psycho references.

The album comes to a close with “Hooped Earrings,” ending first with a last chord on the acoustic guitar and even more finally with an “extra” cymbal hit after the music stops. This kind of production, with certain things seeming purposefully accidental or intentionally sloppy, is one of the major earmarks of the record. There’s a duality in the technique, with basement/bedroom lo-fi meeting well-placed synth lines and tasteful trumpet work. Being tasteful—that’s one thing The Front Bottoms seem to have down. There isn’t the slightest hint of ostentation on this record; every note on the album is there for a purpose, even the ones that sound a bit off.

While the production is by all means on-point, it is the lyrics that truly “make” the album. Lyrically, the songs are little treatises, existential blurbs on coming of age in suburban New Jersey, with themes that resonate around that central idea—vignettes about “coming clean” (cutting hair, bathing, et cetera), more than one reference to post-coital snoozing, rendezvous with local girls, partying with friends, and being on the road—the songs themselves lack specific stories (ie. this song is “about” a subject), but the images and lyrics weave together throughout the entire album. Sella’s lyrical ranting give The Front Bottoms a quality that reminds one of a more melodic mewithoutYou and that is in no way a bad thing. This is the kind of record that is going to start fights among wannabe Brooklynites (“you just wouldn’t get the lyrics”). There is a disarming maturity mixed with a painfully acute sense of self-awareness and self-deprecation; the humor is palpable, but so is the hurt. The Front Bottoms have created a thematically and musically consistent album, full of energy and intelligence, that can do naught but set them apart from and in front of the rest of the stagnating New Jersey scene.

★★★★☆

*This review was composed by Paul Adler