Pitchfork

Welcome back to First Turn-On, where our next guest is Todd Fancey. Todd enjoys New Pornography, raglan, teardrop windows, timeless curves, and burnt sienna. He's been called a throwback, even a kitschist by some elitist duffers. But our audience thinks otherwise, and Todd's here today-- all the way from Vancouver!-- to tell us how it really goes down. Take it away, Todd!

As it turns out, Todd Fancey does have a fetish for the filtered bliss of 1970s pop, strains of which stream through his self-titled debut like Toughskins through the turnstiles at a Stand Back-era April Wine gig. But the New Porn guitarist seems to figure that the best way to celebrate is to reinvent, so he shades his songs in sun-dappled, modernist progressions. "Carry Me" kicks things off with a warm, if slightly melancholic organ tone, but the introspection is quickly chased off by the introduction of a Wurlitzer, Fancey's first-class Beach Boys vocal, and that bouncy-ass arrangement. Still, he admits to not knowing just where he's going: "How pathetic I've become," he sings, the sentiment reflecting the sadness of the song's initial notes. It's this sort of smart songwriting that makes Fancey such a now album. It's referential, yet more mindful of mood than your average bearded 70s van driver/songwriter.

Keys and women are recurring themes on Fancey-- "Dial Jupiter" plays them off moon cheese and fuzz guitar, while "Sunbrite" layers whizzy synths and backup coos over a slight disco beat suggestive of Tahiti 80 or Ivy. Paranoia also continues to percolate here and there, particularly under the pedal steel shimmer of "In Town", but Todd is also content to sing about the simpler things in life: Getting high, for instance, figures mightily into this soft-focus equation. But Fancey is at his best when he's focusing on utterly simplistic immediacy. Would you like to hear a fun, giddily rocking song about drivin' and "Rock and Roll Rhythm"? Perhaps the pleasantly hungover quality of "Saturday Morning" is more your speed. Well, close your eyes, then, and listen to the buttery Todd tones. As he sings, harpists and wah peddle guitarists flicker and appear in the corners of your bedroom, and summer sunlight gleams in your girlfriend's hair.

Of course, wily pop freak that he is, Fancey has to fuck with that fuzzy Friday sex fantasy, following "Saturday Morning"'s buzz with the resigned downer duet of "'Til the Morning Comes". The contemplative organs and pretty synth washes are still here, but there's that melancholy again. "I was better off in bed," Todd begins haltingly, and his girl just asks for a ride home. Still, despite its relationship woe, "Morning Comes" is one of Fancey's stronger songs, beautifully sketching freehand over 70s references and the clean lines of 21st century soft rock.

After all its highs and those little counterbalancing lows, Fancey ends with the sweeter-than-citrus "I'll Be Down". The Wurlitzer is happy again, and there seems to be some talk about doorways to the other side and dosing. As the lilting beat starts to take effect, an accordion fades in from the ether, and the harmonies rise and fall like the breath of an early summer day. Throwback? Hardly. Todd Fancey's just singing about those moments when the world is in focus, and life's as pretty as Miss September '73.