Victoryland: My Heart Is a Room With No Cameras in It
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Victoryland: My Heart Is a Room With No Cameras in It
"My Heart Is a Room With No Cameras in It, the second album from Brooklyn musician Julian McCamman's Victoryland, is loaded with the stuff: a heap of fragmentary memories, cast-off objects, and shameful urges out in the open for all to see. After getting his start as the rhythm guitarist for now-defunct Philadelphia band Blood, McCamman left the city on a quest for pop songwriting perfection."
"Though My Heart presents as loose and impulsive, it's the undeniable product of McCamman and producer Dan Howard's work in the studio. The panning background wail of electric guitar in "I got god" provides the melodic seal for McCamman's stream-of-consciousness lyrics; the way his vocal echoes in circles on the word "ostinato" codifies its meaning in sound. "Fits," an LCD Soundsystem-style dance cut that swaps synths for guitars, maintains the illusion of perpetual motion thanks to its finely interlocked grooves."
"The Philly DIY scene knows a thing or two about smuggling big-time singalongs inside raucous punk; My Heart polishes these melodies and brings them to the fore, preserving their emotional catharsis but wrapping them in open-hearted innocence instead of righteous conviction. It's a bright, madcap approach reminiscent of the New Pornographers' Twin Cinema or Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's Some Loud Thunder."
My Heart Is a Room With No Cameras in It channels personal baggage into concise pop songwriting, pairing fragmentary memories and shameful urges with upbeat melodies. The music shifts from Philly DIY punk roots toward polished pop arrangements shaped by producer Dan Howard. Studio touches, like panned electric wails and echoed vocals, reinforce lyrical themes and melodic hooks. Dance-influenced tracks trade synths for interlocked guitars while some traditional rock numbers lack live-band tension. McCamman's voice moves between goofy slur and slack-jawed roving, delivering both desperate choruses and softer, quivering moments across the record.
Read at Pitchfork
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