Django Django aren’t TRYING to sound different from everyone else; it just sort of happened
London-by-way-of-Edinburgh foursome Django Django craft brilliant, space-y, sun-drenched, psych pop, somewhere between the lush soundscapes of Animal Collective, the windswept desert rock of Calexico, and the artsy weirdness of The Beta Band. It’s a combination the band stumbled upon organically—“I was coming at it from a sensibility of trying to make Dancehall rhythms or trying to make minimal Chicago and Detroit music—which is a million miles away from Django Django,” explains front man David MacLean to Clash Music. “But the sensibilities kind of overlapped and because I’m so into 50s, 60s R&B and psych I just thought, ‘we’ll just chuck it all in and see what happens.’”
It’s a brave composition style—but luckily, one that suits the band well. Its debut record, Django Django, is a thrilling jumble of sounds and textures that come together in joyous celebration—positing Django Django as an early (and unexpected!) frontrunner for my fave breakout act of 2012.
Django kicks off with “Introduction,” a gentle mélange of chirping birds and swirling keys that eases the listener, slowly, into “Hail Bop,” an infectious marriage of undulating bass, pulsing keys, and earthy, choral vocals. Django Django prove throughout that they are masters at creating depth—spaces for songs to grow and expand—and here the melody envelops you like a cloud, harmonies swirling like buzzing bees. Follower “Default” bounces and bobs like a spring on a trampoline, its shuffling guitars and video game keys vocals accentuating the funky pulse—while “Firewater”’s bass-y grooves and handclaps recollect both Beta and campfire hoe-downs.
“Waveforms” is a record highlight, with psych-tinged choral vocals, tribal drums and an increasing sense of triumph, while “Love’s Dart” gallops forth like a sun-soaked ride through the desert, rhythms courtesy of the band’s most treasured percussion instrument—coconuts.
"When we first got the coconuts out, I think we were aware it was all a bit Monty Python," explains Maclean to The Guardian. "But they really do sound like a horse galloping."
The end of the record delves further into cowboy desert rock, “Wor” barreling forth like a police chase across the Old West, while “Storm” stews like the tornado it describes, propelled by bar-band keys and blustery vocals.
And while the record was recorded partially by MacLean in his bedroom, tunes still sound crisp and energized, propelled by their creators’ fervor.
"A lot of people expected us to ditch our recordings and start all over again [when we signed to a label], but that was never something we wanted to do,” says MacLean to label Because Music (Justice, Metronomy).
"If you listen to 'Barbara Ann' by the Beach Boys, it's such a bad recording," he explains further, to The Guardian. "But it was one of their biggest hits. We didn't have the money for a studio, but when you hold a mic next to the drum kit and it sounds alright, you don't need one."
You don’t need to convince us.
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