Pitchfork

Nostalgia's a bummer. Sappy longing for what once was, and pathetic cries in the face of temporality to reverse its unending drive forward all end up a complete waste. Wasn't it the great Oprah Winfrey that assisted millions of bourgeois housewives all over America to stop living in the past? Perhaps we should transfer such pop-psychology to our own indie living.

But I just can't get past the fact that this Cherubino record's gotten me all nostalgic. The Self-Starter foundation prides itself in releasing the debut albums by Karate and Les Savy Fav, and now bringing us the debut seven-song EP from NYC-based emo trio Cherubino. That's right, the emo never dies. Just like the past, I would say.

You see, Cherubino's raw rock elements and lighthearted melodies have me all distraught over the death of Pavement and that zany Malkmus, the times when Weezer weren't so damn terrible, and the fact that the electrified wails of the White Stripes aren't in my stereo at the moment. Of course, I could always change the disc and relive those Pinkerton years in a second, but it's just not the same.

And it's not that Cherubino sounds anything like any of the aforementioned bands-- only that certain elements spark that sort of nostalgia in me. The quasi-lo-fi rock isn't totally lo-fi a la early Pavement, though the vague, Malkmus-inflected lyrics do aspire to that level of brilliance (without quite making it). The guitar solo of "Mercury Retrograde" screams Blue Album Weezer with its simplistic melodic sensibility soaked in overdrive. Lines like, "We could build a house just for two," from the same track, and the vocal turns in "Rocket," are delivered with an almost passionate disregard by frontman Travis Peterson that sounds like a subdued Jack White. Drummer Karen Tercho even chimes in for a vocal cameo on the latter in addition to her bangin' beats.

But one must understand the divergence between these modern legends and Cherubino. For one, the lyrics are concerned with little other than failing relationships. "It's gonna take more than a kiss to make up for this," sings Peterson over the heavy shuffle of the opening track, "Kiss." The lyric is intoned with a playfulness that transcends the line's superficial banality, primarily because of its implications. And just like it takes some talent to even draw comparison to those greats, Cherubino rises above the general fodder of their contemporaries to create something that hints at potential.

Hints of synth peek through the mix on a few tracks, and like the brilliant breaking of the film strip incorporated into Ingmar Bergman's Persona, the sound disintegrates in the middle of "Car Wreck." Their live performances are known for their inebriated energy, but like former Foundationeers Les Savy Fav, the sheer romp of this energy is lost in the studio. What bothers me most is that even Bird's twenty-five minutes feel a bit indulgent. Unlike Les Savy Fav, Cherubino has yet to stretch their genre's stodgy boundaries. Of course, this is only their first release, so we can hope for the best in their future, but for now I'm going to go curl up in the corner with my Wowee Zowee.