Befitting its title, Everest is the ambitious debut album from the talented young members of Toronto music collective (there have been as many as 40 members) First Rate People. A multitude of influences are evident from the very first track, “Dark Age,” which is predominantly sweet, wistful electropop, but also showcases an eclectic mix of instrumentals and a two-minute coda of folky, acoustic harmonies tacked onto the end.
Each song seems to have a different lead vocalist, and each offers unexpected arrangements and rhythms that differentiate this band from other electropop outfits that seem to be cropping up everywhere, while still offering the pleasing synth sounds that have created a zeitgeist awash in faded neon colors. “You Won’t Get This Joke at All,” the album’s second, and arguably strongest track, starts bright – the drums and synths of dopamine-inducing dancepop – then the bombast cuts away in favor of Anna Horvath’s piercing vocals declaring: “I won’t rest till its over / I won’t call till you’ve heard it all.” Though the song is about love and longing, this line could easily be about the band’s mission: to create something deliberate and ambitious, but also easy-seeming enough to let listeners know that they get the joke, and are adept at engaging with what’s popular.
Lyrically, Everest, like a good young adult novel, gives the pains of growing up their earnest due. Alienation figures prominently in “You Won’t Get This Joke at All.” Other familiar themes include cruising in cars, laying out in backyards, losing in love, and reflecting quietly on change. In “Three Ordinary Words” the lopsided lover refrains, “I’m by your street and it’s raining.”
The band keeps such trodden themes fresh through its surprising arrangements and jarring transitions, as well as the consistently pure vocals. The blended harmonies on “Sleeptalk” are as affecting as a church choir’s. The horn-backed melodies of “Janna” lend the track a joyful, laid back funk.
The complexities of sound within each song display the benefits of a collaborative process, but sometimes it just doesn’t work, or the challenge of it is too much. There are a few missteps on Everest, such as “Sweet Hereafter,” which comes off as both overtly ambitious and a bit monotone.
Ultimately, ambitiousness is Everest‘s greatest asset. With each listen, all 10 songs unearth something new and charming. The collaborative efforts of this band also seem to make a philosophical statement: that the experiences they sing of are shared and also anonymous, that a feeling of inclusion is necessary so long as it’s not overbearing.
Review by Melanie Broder. Follow her on Twitter at @melbroder.
