Photo courtesy of I Wish I Was a Punk Band

We are firmly in the age of the solo artist. Bands aren’t dead, but the increase in solo acts has certainly turned our attention away from multiple-member acts. It makes sense — the ability to record an album on your laptop lowers the barrier of entry, and gone is the headache of scheduling band practice. Couple this with the multitude of online channels for releasing music, and it’s fairly obvious that, as listeners, we have an unprecedented luxury of choice when discovering new music. That said, it can also lead to information overload with such a crowded field of artists and albums. 

Perhaps that’s what makes Takeda Bleach, the debut album from Phil Hamilton’s (of Datenite) solo project I Wish I Was A Punk Band, fairly remarkable: it’s a record that takes full advantage of modern conveniences while still managing to carve out a space of its own. It’s laptop-indebted bedroom pop to be sure, but that doesn’t mean it sounds like it was recorded next to piles of dirty laundry. This is a slick record that largely succeeds in melding a wistful mood with electro-pop production while staying rooted in the simple melodies and vocal-centric delivery characteristic of the genre.

The record opens with the waltzified bossanova “Tin Cans,” introducing some of Takeda Bleach’s most prominent qualities — its dreamy, island-worthy chord structures, earnest vocals,  and percolating rhythms. It could be tempting to reduce the album to a blissed-out chillfest, but tracks like “EITBOYH” tastefully showcase Hamilton’s guitar chops and ability to create tension and release without distracting from the overall groove of the song.

“Brother” stands out as one of the stronger demonstrations of producer Mathieu Riede’s abilities, melding Tycho-inspired beats and twinkling synth modulation with a focused vocal delivery reminiscent of underappreciated indie-electro masters Halloween Alaska. If the beat-centric aspect of the record has you worried it’ll be full of vapid bangers, this track easily puts those fears to bed. The song is subtle and patient without being dull, odd without being overly cute, and its sonic layers and lyrics that reflect on family and place give it real depth throughout its three-and-a-half minute run.

Throughout Takeda Bleach, Hamilton — maybe unwittingly — channels early work of another Seattle indie-pop act: Say Hi. IWIWAPB filters the same kind of confessional insecurity through skittering electro-percussion and layers of reverb. In many ways, it’s the logical progression of that sound, from the analog-rooted experimentation of the mid-aughts to the more complete digitization in the age of apps. The songs sway and bump without getting bogged down in technical execution. There are minor blips that obstruct some of the record’s flow, like the somewhat clunky start-and-stop guitar intro on “Busted” or the disjointed transitions between laid-back verses and synth-heavy choruses on “Time Spent,” but the hiccups are pretty minimal when considering the record in its entirety.

Last track “Takeda Coda” is a simple, well, coda to the record, augmented with spacious field sounds and centered around a sweet acoustic guitar melody that gently lilts and turns among bird songs and what sounds like the white noise of distant traffic. It’s a brave way to end a pop record, with the genre’s propensity to keep the party going and end on an ever-ascending high note. But, those are the kinds of chances you’ll find taken on Takeda Bleach. Not all of them land perfectly, but the surprise and experimentation are part of the fun in listening to an album that sounds as effortless as it is ambitious.