The xx – The xx

There’s something that’s ever so slightly misleading—though not, strictly speaking, untrue—about the way new band The xx has been characterized by the British rock rags and indie music blogs. Critics are fawning over these young British upstarts, just barely out of their teens, for their internalization of modern R&B—a singular and stylish trick, to be sure—but club-ready Timbaland beats these are not. Debut album The xx isn’t a party album: It’s a hazy hangover album, music for the morning after.

And in a way, that actually makes their R&B tropes that much more impressive: With no live percussionist and only a drum machine to keep time, the band does indeed take cues from the dance floor, but in a whole new context and for an entirely different purpose. Of course, there are other touchstones as well—some of Radiohead’s brooding melancholy, some of Interpol’s angular guitars, and, with their minimalist aesthetic and expert use of silence and negative space, more than a hint of Kill the Moonlight-era Spoon and their inverted, subversive R&B. But where it took Spoon a few albums to land on their signature sound, The xx emerges amazingly fully-formed, sounding not quite like anyone else in indie rock right now.

But the most significant touchstone is also the unlikeliest: Strange though it may seem, The xx bears more than a passing similarity to Fleetwood Mac circa Rumours. Admittedly, the connection is less formal than it is spiritual. This isn’t quite a he said-she said breakup album, but it does strike an evocative note or sexual tension and romantic uncertainty. And then there are the vocals from guitarist Romy Madley Croft and bassist Oliver Sim, not conjuring a duet so much as whispering in tandem, dialoging like the Fleetwood gang in their prime.

And make no mistake: This is essentially sexy music, but not in a gaudy or sensational way, and certainly not in a commercial way. It’s sleek and sophisticated, the compositions immaculate and the lines clean; the whole thing is quietly stormy, tumultuous even though it rarely emerges from its hushed haze. The album doesn’t immediately grab you, but it seduces you slowly with its finely-honed compositions and sustained atmospherics.

It takes confidence to make a debut album that proves to be such a slow-burner—and confidence is something The xx has in spades. Though the British print of this fine debut come with a bonus cut—a cover of an Aaliyah song—they purposefully resist any flash or easy hooks on the album proper, burying deep emotions under throbbing bass and sterile guitars. Its virtues take some time to unearth, but that makes them all the more worthwhile, and proves that The xx are one of the most original indie rock groups to emerge in quite some time.

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Tagged as: indie pop, London

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