Architecture in Helsinki
Fingers Crossed
[Bar/None; 2004]
Rating: 8.2
Paper plates have been liberally smeared with bright yellow icing. Blue cocktail napkins, sticky and balled, float in partially consumed cups of apple juice. Shreds of wrapping paper and ribbon dot the lawn, abandoned sacks of loot topple over into the flower bed, candy necklaces and pink rubber balls slowly spill into the topsoil. Children run at full speed, in every direction. And on a cheap portable stereo, Architecture in Helsinki's debut, Fingers Crossed, starts to spin, each bit of gleefully bizarre pop somehow blending perfectly into the haphazard hollers of cake-stuffed toddlers, mirroring their soft mania, providing what might be the only appropriate soundtrack to a throwdown attended exclusively by knee-high tots no longer wearing their shoes.
While goofy backyard birthday parties have long been rendered formulaic, chalked up as another standardized offshoot of American minivan culture, Fingers Crossed is an oddly surprising invention, curiously unparalleled and quietly compelling: In a rapidly changing landscape, it's rare to stumble onto a record that actually sounds new, and Architecture in Helsinki have managed to take "neo-psych" to entirely unforeseen levels of blippy eccentricity. Ultimately, what's most disarming about the band's brand of blissful musing is that it's so stupidly pleasant to listen to: Melding lilting harmonies, sweet, high-pitched synthesizers, tittering percussion, and assorted woodwinds, Architecture lay out a weird and whimsical electro-pop buffet, effortless yet perplexing.
A collective of eight Australians (five men, three women), Architecture tote around a massive pile of gear-- xylophone, flute, four different kinds of guitar, glockenspiel, trumpet, tuba, trombone, assorted synths, melodica, thumb piano, clarinet, recorder, bass, and various drums, their tinny din augmented only by a mess of vocals (including contributions by some craggy-voiced kids), handclaps, tap dancers, and finger snaps. It's impossible to understand the group without understanding their pile of stuff and the penchant for tinkles and beeps it so blatantly implies; despite employing more than thirty noisemakers and a diverse choir of age-ranged voices, Fingers Crossed manages to end up sounding excessive and slight at the very same time. The combination is beautifully baffling.
Credit the band's songwriting prowess: "The Owl's Go" is Fingers Crossed's brilliant creative apex, an insane and addictive menagerie of sounds, melodies, and gleeful circus bits-- listening feels a little like cracking open the mind of a manic-depressive in full-on hysteria, climbing inside while he shakes with joy, elated to the point of drooling. The track starts with a whispered two-voice countdown, figures tap-shoes-and-finger-clicks-as-percussion, and then positions flute, jangly guitar, finger snaps, xylophone, a smattering of boy/girl voices, shouting children, and sighs as prominently as possible. While the rest of Fingers Crossed never quite matches this high, there are other notable moments: "Fumble" is a goofy-but-engaging tuba-heavy celebration, and "Like a Call", with its muted beats and meandering bassline, is an inadvertently touching promise.
But just as benign backyard clowns have earned a spot in pre-adolescent nightmares, there's something sort of terrifying about Architecture in Helsinki's strung-out ecstasy. The band's incessant squeaking could make Fingers Crossed become vaguely unbearable, overwhelming in its promise of total, uncompromised happiness. Still, like any good birthday binge or uncanny high, it's worth the hangover. You might swear you'll never touch it again. But you so will.
-Amanda Petrusich, April 20, 2004
Review by Heather Phares
Architecture in Helsinki's debut, Fingers Crossed, introduces their very appealing collage of electronic and indie pop. While there are a lot of groups out there mixing these styles, this Australian octet's music stands out, and not just because they use tap dancing as an instrument. Even though the band uses a wide array of sounds, ranging from bass recorder to a host of analog synths and samplers, Architecture in Helsinki have an admirably restrained hand with their sonic arsenal. Most of the album trades in charming pop miniatures like "Souvenirs," "Imaginary Ordinary," and "To and Fro," all of which are so quietly breezy that it would be easy to tune them out on the first few listens. That would be a mistake, however, as there is a lot to explore within the group's songs: "Scissor Paper Rock" sounds like a Burt Bacharach song from the future; "Spring 2008" has bouncy, almost Japanese-sounding percussion and a melody to match, along with a song title that's far enough away to still seem futuristic. Fingers Crossed's most striking song is "Owls Go," which makes the most of the band's playful minimalism and production wizardry. The track zips between lots of musical elements -- including samples, choral vocals, and children singing -- like a game of sonic Ping-Pong. "Kindling" is another standout that with its big brassy choruses is the closest the group comes to rocking out. "Like a Call" manages to be one of the album's quietest and catchiest songs at the same time, and "Vanishing" ends the album with one of its loveliest and most expansive songs. While it's not a perfect album -- occasionally the whispery vocals become cutesy instead of cute -- Fingers Crossed is a charming debut that should please anyone who likes creative indie pop.
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