One doesn’t need to look much further than LCD Soundsystem’s end of year ubiquity (aside from Twisted Ear, that is) to gauge so-called electronic music’s penetration into indie (and by proxy, pop) culture. What started out as a trend has developed into a critically – and to a certain respect, commercially – viable genre. Along with greater respect and the general saturation, there has been a shift from self-deprecation into honest introspection, from crude sentiment into gentle observation. Even !!!, one of the roughest early progenitors of the indie-dance scene grew, up a little on last year’s Myth Takes. The James Murphy/DFA story has been told enough times already, and doesn’t need to be recounted here, though it is one of the more astounding transformations in musical current events. And already this year Hot Chip’s new album has been mucking up a curious mix of disappointment and bewilderment at their progression. The goal, it seems, isn’t so much to rock a party, to nudge the crowd with hipper-than-thou references. Now that these acts have our attention, they seem intent on telling us how they feel. Not everyone seems to be happy with the prospect of over-emotive DJs, the idea of which can either be taken as a betrayal of the music itself, or a clear sign of maturation.

And somewhere between those two poles lies Muscles, a shouty young man from Australia. Early reviews positioned him as a hybrid of Andrew W.K and house music. That might be a concise encapsulation of the sound, and an apt warning for anyone frightened off by that idea, though such a pithy A) meets B) cross-section is a little too simplistic in this case.

Guns Babes Lemonade is emotional music from the first minute. Don’t be deceived by the title, nor by the cheap cover art. This isn’t a case of Chromeo/Har Mar Superstar smart-assery. The lyrics, while unpolished and arguably immature, are honest and touching. When on the first song he yells how awesome and special it was to slip his hand into “yours”, he really means it. The ecstasy he chants about, along with peace and love, is both chemical and spiritual.

Objectively, the record is lurid and ugly. This is dance music at its loudest and most heterosexual extreme. And while subtlety might not be Muscles’ strongest suit, there are a number of personal touches, such as the sly dual nods to the Fiery Furnaces on Chocolate Raspberry Lemon & Lime, which imply a greater level of awareness than on first impression.

The song titles here are pretty glib. As is the album title. But behind the drugged-up affirmations and the tongue-in-cheek surface, there’s a good deal of insecurity bubbling underneath. The music, the major signifier here, is shallow, dinky and crude, but this isn’t a one note record, and neither is Muscles. Ice Cream, a song about, well, ice cream, is also about morbid paranoia and avoiding physical confrontation. Suffice to say, John Cale isn’t going to reinterpret these songs anytime soon, but that isn’t a fair auger of the honesty on display here.

Muscles is closer to old-school house than most of his current peers, but he isn’t behind the curve, only a little green. Whereas James Murphy needed a re-do to prove that he was more than a two-dimensional joker, Muscles is already making music that we can both dance and relate to. At this point, it seems nearly impossible for there to be any mainstream crossover for Guns Babes Lemonade  (in fact, the album, released last year in the U.S. and Australia was mostly forgotten by top-ten time), but this is a pretty solid start. Whether he has a Sound of Silver or a Made in the Dark in him remains to be seen. If he’s still shouting about ice cream and calling girls jerks in another half a decade, then this’ll just be another disappointing could’ve been. For the time being, Muscles offers ample potential, along with a healthy amount of youthful exuberance. Many will write him off, and I’m willing to bet against them. Stay tuned.

Release date: 23/10/07 (US); 24/03/08 (UK)
Artist website: MySpace Page
Label: Modular Interscope / Island

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