Record Review: Cults (Cults, 2011)

On the surface, Manhattan-based indie-pop duo Cults is just another in a series of bands trying to repackage any number of “cute” sounds and trite lyrics from early 1960s girl-pop groups for a new generation. All of the typical signposts are there: Phil Spector-ish, dreamy soundscapes; boy-girl lead vocals; lyrics about going out in the sun and spying on one’s secret crushes; surfboard guitar sounds; a xylophone that doubles the melody on their lead single. Listen deeper, though, and you realize that there’s something creatively creepy about this “feel-good” pop band.

The group’s darker qualities are hinted at in their name. Brian Oblivion and Madeline Follin have an odd fascination with dictators, cult leaders, and other dark figures of history. Their debut record is peppered with audio samples from speeches by the likes of Jim Jones. The Isaiah Seret-directed video for the breakthrough song “Go Outside” features images of obliviously blissful Jonestown residents singing and dancing their hearts out intercut seamlessly with footage of the band members performing the song. The film stock looks so similar that it’s impossible to distinguish between the modern and archival footage. It’s as if Oblivion and Follin have joined the People’s Temple.

The question, then, is what exactly are Cults up to with their curious juxtaposition of happy-go-lucky pop sounds and imagery from crazed charismatic cult leaders? Are they being artistically inventive, or simply exploitative?

They’re bringing a fresh, risky approach to an overworked genre. Their songs might not really be about being victims of an oppressive cult, but rather what’s it like to be in a relationship that feels restrictive. Take the opening track, “Abducted.” One could read the key lines either as a metaphor about being “swept off one’s feet” by love, or a description of an actual abduction: “I knew right then that she’d been abducted / I knew right then that I would be breaking her heart / I knew right then that I’d never love her / The reasons I hope the dream hasn’t left her scarred.” It’s this central tension that makes this ambiguous band stand apart from many of their peers. The female speaker of many of the songs uses imagery suggesting entrapment and identity frustration: “I can never heal myself enough for you”; “I’m stuck in the same tradition / I’m so tired of thinking about the things I have been missing” ; “I never saw the point in crying / ‘cause I can’t be the way you want.”

The band’s artistic intentions are perhaps best summed up by the final line of their most famous song: “I think I want to live my life and you’re just in my way.” Is the speaker talking about a lover or a fanatical cult leader? Or both? I am eerily fascinated by these questions.