Was I predisposed to like this album? The first time I listened to the debut album from Twin Terrace – Dubliner and one-time Vodkopter member Gavin Redmond – it was a glorious, sun-drenched day in the city. Granted, I was inside at the time attached to a laptop, but through Twitter I was able to vicariously enjoy the rays as I looked out the window and dreamed about going out, maybe, while the floating sounds of Plural sank in. Did you ever get that feeling when you decide on an album to listen to and one song in you know you made the right choice, that any other album would have been folly, and feel instantly smug? We got off to a good start, this album and I.
Returning to Dublin after a stint in Vancouver, Redmond wrote, performed, recorded and mixed this himself, having discovered his home made recordings were of good enough quality to do just that. The ten songs in this collection are scattered with eighties reference points – you’ll find yourself racking your brain to find out why you know this sound, where you heard that progression, what band a certain moment sounds like, but the answers are elusive. It is somehow familiar, yet unique. Redmond has put his own indelible mark on these largely laid back numbers, particularly his manner of drawing out words and sentences, elongating syllables to dream-like effect in that high register.
All These Aisles is a sunny, open-armed welcome, where ambient noises blow in and out amidst distant voices and industrial clatter; every so often the pitter-patter of programmed drums emerges and recedes. In contrast to the open, ringing chords that begin the album, Our Friend the Atom is a heavier, guitar-driven number, almost out of step with the album as a whole and – perhaps intentionally – a jolt from the hazy opener.
You Keep Coming Back picks up where Big Star left off, it’s jangly picked guitar leading into understated surging choruses. Suddenly, a startling moment of elegance; in the songs dying seconds, the ghost of a brief piano piece – like a barely tuned radio – leads us into Victory Square. Electro-noise mingles with guitar and vocals, before the rhythm section languidly kicks in and the dreamy drawl of a female vocal takes over. Throughout the album, songs gently lift off in this manner, be it with a restrained drum beat or a reverb-soaked guitar. For this reason, things can tend to get repetitive in respect of the overall composition of the album, but Redmond has injected these songs with rich backing tracks and melodies enough to render this more observation than criticism.
I Thought I’d Leave With You has all the trappings of an epic, new wave power ballad, and when Redmond sings the title line of the lofty chorus, it sweeps along everything in its path. Then something odd happens – Roy Orbison out of the blue having a bad hair band day. A twin guitar solo appears, almost a parody. Which it may well be. For that reason, I can’t decide whether this is amazing or cheesy, although I’m leaning towards the former. Redmond has a knack, it has to be said, for creating a memorable vocal phrase – here; in the way he enunciates ‘Christina’ at the start of Thin Air; the impressive stretches of How Dare Her; the album is full of lingering tones.
Songs unfurl and roll by longingly and cohesively for the most part on Plural, so that even when it changes to a higher gear – as on Our Friend the Atom for instance, or the Smiths- like To Belong – it still retains its flow, leaving a sweet malaise in its wake. The singer himself notes that Plural will fit nicely on one side of a C90 cassette. So that girl or boy you like? Make them a tape. Put this on it. Just remember though, home taping is killing music, so make sure they’re worth it.