“Instant Nostalgia,” a song from 2nd Grade’s latest LP, Scheduled Explosions, opens at the scene of a catastrophe instigated by its narrator. Despite the looming threat of federal time and the urgent need for a cleanup crew, the prevailing vibe is chipper, riding high on handclaps and Byrdsian riffs. We don’t stick around long enough to solve the crime, though one can deduce that a detonation has littered the ground with full-size candy bars. “The shock treatment has shock value,” coos frontman Peter Gill, repeating the song’s title in multi-tracked vocal harmony. In the world he’s dreamed up for the Philadelphia band’s third full-length, reminiscence is not just a comfortable retreat. The Cold War-era aesthetics from which the group has long drawn influence, like saccharine 1960s power-pop and the Southern college rock of the Reagan administration, harbor an undercurrent of nuclear paranoia.
Despite its happy-go-lucky hooks and jangly finish, Scheduled Explosions is an existentially unsettling listen, sprinkled with conspiratorial radio transmissions, missile deployments, and apocalyptic nihilism. It’s unconventional subject matter for sunshine pop, but the dread balances Gill’s taste for cute, quirky songcraft. Gill still writes in short spurts, packing albums with 90-second tunes of varying fidelity in the vein of Guided by Voices. But this body of work feels less like a chapbook and more like a novel. When 2nd Grade take a moment to step back from the narrative, the coziness intensifies. Lo-fi strummers “Joan on Ice” and “King of Marvin Gardens,” dripping with reverb and teen angst, are tender respites from the paranoiac panache.
Gill’s fragmented, ultra-brief songs allow him to indulge eccentric ideas that may not warrant a full fleshing-out. “Crybaby Semiconductor,” a tape-warped jingle about software engineering befitting an obscure Elephant 6 Collective album, would wear thin if it crossed the minute mark. Condensed to a single verse, it makes for a charming stinger between scenes. At double the length, “Ice Cream Social Acid Test” feels overwrought by comparison, marinating vaguely trippy lyrics in vintage psych-rock tropes without nailing down a solid chorus. Of the tracks that follow traditional pop song structure, “Triple Bypass in B-Flat” best sticks the landing, with swooping arpeggios and lovely high-register vocals: It’s tough to write anything original about shyness, but the simple, crushing line “A language dies every time I try to say ‘hi’” does the trick.
