Pitchfork

Comparing bands is pretty much unavoidable when you're trying to classify or keep straight hundreds or even thousands of artists that fall beneath the banner of indie rock. Hence, Vampire Weekend gets likened to Graceland even if the resemblance is slight rather than exact, while thanks to the nasally pipes of Alec Ounsworth, assessors of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah will probably always evoke Talking Heads regardless of where the former group draws its inspiration. Associations with better and more established artists may add pressure to musical up-and-comers, but it also piques the interest of said artists' fans and admirers, and at least put these listeners in a positive frame of mind when putting the record on. Then again, it can work just as easily in opposition when the point of reference leaves you cold.

The potential side effects of prejudicing a listener's first impressions is something I've been thinking about since encountering Lightspeed Champion. Lightspeed is the current project of Devonte Hynes, most notably a member of now-defunct dance-punks Test Icicles. A head-spinning 180-degree turn from his previous group's beat-fueled mayhem, the new project finds Hynes assuming the role of a florid troubadour, dewily emoting over well-manicured strings and acoustic guitars.

Because Lightspeed Champion has toured with Bright Eyes, and because longtime BE collaborator and go-to Saddle Creek producer Mike Mogis helmed this record, Hynes' latest effort has earned him a slew of misleading comparisons to Conor Oberst's acclaimed-yet-divisive outfit-- an association that not only misrepresents Hynes' positive attributes, but his shortcomings, too. Oberst has an awkward way of shoehorning twang into his unchecked poetic rambling, but on Falling Off the Lavender Bridge, Hynes offers a comfortable (and more interesting) marriage of lush Brit-pop and Omaha-flavored country-rock.

On the other hand, Hynes' lyrics aren't quite up to par with his tourmate Oberst. And while Hynes' voice isn't carefully spotlighted as Conor's, you can unfortunately still make out what he's saying. A precocious young man himself, Hynes has an awful predilection towards the kind of "transgressive" lyricism that's less shocking than just plain silly. Pick your poison: "I'm sick in your mouth," "Wake up, smell the semen," or something that certainly sounds like "until they cum down his throat."

Given the way Hynes has transitioned from disco-thrash to roots-pop, I suppose it's possible his next record might be hair metal laced with r&b or punk-rock opera. If he's patient enough to dig deeper into his current terrain, though, he could cultivate a sound distinctive enough for other artists to begin garnering ill-fitting comparisons to him instead.