by Will Yarbrough (wyarbrough23@gmail.com)
The small wonders that were so easy to find on the old Internet are getting killed by artificial intelligence. So color me surprised that of all the post-Y2k trends to come back in vogue, blog rock is alive and well in Victoryland. The one-man project of Brooklyn transplant Julian McCamman would've raised doubts among Myspace forums who lobbied Clap Your Hands Say Yeah as the next big thing. But his debut album isn't stuck in the past. While guarded, My Heart Is A Room With No Cameras In It reveals peak indie still has the power to change your life.
Victoryland is planted among the hip circles of the Big Apple, but its seeds were sown in Philadelphia. McCamman recorded an initial EP with some ex-bandmates, though My Heart Is A Room With No Cameras In It owes more to the guy who produced his last album as a member of Blood. Williamsburg studio denizen Dan Howard pulled McCamman away from the City of Brotherly Love by pushing him to think bigger and brighter. Pseudo title track "No Cameras" opens with the magic of a dusty movie projector before booming drums from Matt and Kim's pad on Grand Street expand the chorus for wide-screen release.
My Heart Is A Room With No Cameras In It uncovers a cozy middle ground between bedroom pop and indie sleaze. Whether it's a fretboard glitch, woozy synth or the faintest pulse of keys, each song holds onto at least one part from the demo. But while overflowing with DIY charm, what holds the album together is Victoryland's sticky craftsmanship. You can envision the lightbulb turning on above McCamman's head when "You Were Solved" switches from dreamy jangle to a lean, ass-shaking riff that's kept Spoon in skinny jeans. Even the breakup ballads don't fade from memory thanks to the bittersweetness mixing amidst those rosy swirls.
"I'll never forgive you", McCamman croons with sincerity, only to mutter one final parting shot. "It's how I keep you close".
McCamman doesn't just sing like a poet. As the album's title suggests, he's as cagey as he is an open book. When it comes to its interior design, he wants his hopes and fears to be known, not exposed. For every poignant quip or insightful provocation, there's an abstract turn of phrase that's not meant to be puzzled over. Rather than spell it out, Victoryland urges us to sweat away our tribulations. Like the city that birthed it, "Fits" is a great ball of nervous energy. And yet — much like the 2000s time capsule "All My Friends" — the song endures by never losing its repeatable groove, which could live in your head all weekend or the next five years.
"Whatever happened to us?" We're left wondering, but Victoryland leads us to fall in love with its familiar sensations all over again.