As someone who straddles the line between Generation X and Millennials, I grew up in a world consumed by irony, cynicism, and malaise. Much of the art I enjoyed in my 20s was poisoned by scene politics, arguments about “selling out,” and concerns about authenticity. Entering my 30s, I became jaded about art and its supposed purpose in wide culture. It got worse when everything became post-ironic and snarky, as it was easier to make fun of the world’s troubles instead of doing something about them.
Becoming a parent and writing my memoir helped me come to grips with my oddly toxic relationship with music. While I loved the stuff, I eventually realized that I’d let my ideas about music drown out actually enjoying music. The past few years have been an exercise in exploring music just because I liked it. I followed a simple guideline: If it made me feel things, then it was good.
The music of Bodega absolutely fits that bill – and more.
From beginning to end, Broken Equipment is a genre-fluid indie rock album that features sharp tongue-in-cheek lyrics. Released on What’s Your Rupture?, this 12-song project delivers a veritable onslaught of hook-filled sound collages that draw from ‘70s glam, ‘80s post-punk, ‘90s radio rock, and ‘00s dance-punk. My brain immediately associated this music with the overall aesthetic of Lizzy Goodman’s Meet Me in the Bathroom. While such a comparison might seem reductive, I think this quintet might have enjoyed those heady early days of NYC revivalism.
The name of the band and the album serve as both a mantra and mission statement. Like a good bodega, there’s something here for everyone – rapid-fire lyrics about pop culture, self-deprecating sentiments about being disillusioned with politics, winking references to the dastardly effects of celebrity and technology. Like a connoisseur of a good junk shop, these tunes feel like the righteous detritus of decades of indie rock culture.
The band creates straightforward rock roots while also gleefully subverting them.
The buzzy guitars, crisp drums, and sultry bass create a resolute foundation for Bodega’s sonic creations. The playful use of samples and programming evince Avalanches and Gorillaz without totally aping either act. The wryly self-aware guy/girl lead vocals of Bodega Ben and Nikki Belfiglio give off big-time Joe Strummer and Debbie Harry vibes.
“Doers” oozes this smart-alecky sophistication that fuses The Cure with Odelay-era Beck. Echo-drenched vocal treatments dance with a rippling baseline and reverb-laden guitars underneath lyrics about existential depression. With “Statuette on the Console,” the band conjures up its best rework of The Strokes, right down to the guitar tone. Belfiglio’s earnest vocals elevate the song beyond mere pastiche, as she compares her postmodern spirituality to a dashboard religious icon.
Honoring LCD Soundsystem and Yeah Yeahs Yeahs, “No Blade of Grass” features groaning guitar lead licks and precise drumming. I liked the call-and-response vocals of Bodega Ben and Belfiglio, and I’m sure they sound great when performed live. “All Past Lovers” provides a delicious motorik rhythm that slowly creeps toward what should be a mountaintop climax, but it never actually arrives.
Broken Equipment overflows with passion, energy, and creativity.
Bodega doesn’t know how to sit still. They craft zippy, timeless tunes that absolutely make you dance throughout the night. The band creates vintage party rock through a piercing NYC lens, as if The B-52s and Duran Duran made music with James Murphy. Moreover, their inventive wordplay and boisterous energy compel you to shed all semblance of self-consciousness.
I needed to hear this sort of music when I started writing about music in 2006. It might have staved off the existential angst with its cheeky, pointed fun. I’m just glad I found it now.
Band photos courtesy of Pooneh Ghana.