Real Numbers

Another hazy, healing bout of pop out of Minneapolis’ Real Numbers hits this week. The band’s been churning the pop wheels over the the last quarter decade, painting through the patterns of Sarah stalwarts like Brighter and Sea Urchins. Flashes of Tallulah Gosh bump against moments spent reclining (much like former labelmates The Reds, Pinks and Purples) into the somber charms of Felt. The new album slips shod of some of the scrappy trappings of their past records, a more fleshed out vision of their sound that began to take shape on 2021’s excellent yet compact offering Brighter Then. Without totally overhauling their sound they embrace the edges of lushness, tilting sideways towards the kind of volleyed melancholy that made latter-period Elephant 6 kits like Essex Green instant favorites.

The clockwork rhythms tick and tap, still tying them to simpler charms, but Sophie and Eli pack up picnic laments that are laced with more than just pleasantries. There’s a deep modern malaise just beneath the surface, but like their predecessors in the twee 90s, they know how to make their misgivings soothe as well as sting. The record takes some time to unpack. Strums and swoons will catch you on the first couple of go-rounds, but the more this digs below the dermis, the more it begins to grow on the listener. Real Numbers have long been living in the margins of indie pop’s focus, but this is the record that should snap them into plain view; a lovely curio of crushed dreams and quiet resolve.

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