It makes sense that Brooklyn band the Drums' self-titled debut opens with breathy moaning and lyrics about waiting on "the hood of your car"—sighing recline and wistful longing seem to be the band's most natural positions. That sampled breath and drum beat are like some wimped-up idea of Elastica's "Car Song," while the next two tracks have the kind of down-stroked guitars, slight melodic lines, and metronomic-yet-propulsive drums that typified the Strokes' streamlined approach to rock rhythm. These are all front-loaded red herrings, though, as the album soon settles down into hand clapping, classicist dream pop, and fey 1950s doo-wop, submerging playground jump-rope cadences ("Let's Go Surfing") and Beach Boys choruses (the mopey "fun fun fun" of "I Need Fun in My Life") in lightly reverbed melancholy, all swooning guitars and affected British accents and the kind of fainting pleas that Morrissey has made his life's work (although without Moz's occasional snarl). For boys who feel the pains of being soft at heart. ERIC GRANDY
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