Postmod dreams and teen fantasies in Push Kings Pop

By I-Huei Go

PUSH KINGS

Push Kings (Sealed Fate)

The Push Kings' eponymous debut full-length plays like the long-awaited results of a longitudinal cultural study overseen by John Hughes or some other purveyor of teen-culture bubble gum. Classic '60s and '70s pop music sensibilities, classic '50s pop lyric ingenuousness, and a little bit of '80s pop dorkiness--they're all thrown onto this exceedingly listenable, danceable, infectious record. Whichever decade you choose, the one that's least likely to come to mind when listening to the Push Kings is the present one. Unless, of course, you take into account the high level of postmodern self-awareness discernible on this album.

Recent postmod revisions of pop music have tended to be either achingly clever, à la Pavement, or excessively cute, à la Holiday. While the Push Kings often err in both directions, there's no denying the Cambridge band's proficiency in the pop songcraft department. Listening to Push Kings, you sometimes get the sense that you've wandered into the bedroom of Paul McCartney's secret and prodigious mutant offspring. "Nine Straight Lines," the album's opener, counterfeits the Liverpudlian's trademark tenor lilt to a tee, while "Florida" and "European Dreams" are content to take less overt inspirations from McCartney's sweet melodicism. There are moments on Push Kings where the band's adherence to their musical forefather stretches too far into Wings-era chintz, as on the power ballad guitar solo on "D.J." and the overblown chorus of "Love in
My Heart."

Even when the songs aren't as transparently influenced, the band makes its adeptness with mel-
ody, harmony, and song structure evident. Sing-along verses and choruses coast effortlessly into memorable bridges, and on "Number Ones," the band modulates continuously upwards to great effect. All four band members play tastefully, the vocals are top-notch, and the horn and string arrangements manage to buoy an otherwise dryly produced record.

Music aside, what is perhaps most endearing about the Push Kings is their geeky allegiance to all things pop, which is where the postmodern rewrites come in most handy. On "Number Ones," for instance, they ask, "Will there be no more number ones that we could play on our radio? / And will the pop just melt away on one bright day when nothing goes his way?" Their bemoaning of the sad state of contemporary top-40 gets even more pointed when they continue, "Will there be no more number ones? Will they walk out a gang of jaded kids? / And if the parents don't come home, what will they spin while they drink juice and gin?" For the Push Kings, pop music becomes the saving grace of every kid who finds him or herself pushed outside the bounds of the "in" crowd.

Pining for girls, of course, is another geeky preoccupation of the album's lyrical content. "Stay with Her" and "Jenny G" take unabashedly juvenile views on courtly high school romance, the latter being based on a kid's fixation on his boyhood babysitter. "European Dreams," one of the album's finest tracks, mixes an 80s penchant for Eurotrash with the rebel ethos of '50s teen flicks: "He's her religion riding on his motorbike. / He gives her fragrant creams and sometimes European dreams." If only life were as simple as the Push Kings' teenage suburban pastoral world. Then maybe we all would have had endless supplies of Clearasil and hairspray to help get us through those painful adolescent years.

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