Perennial might be from the depths of Connecticut, but something about them... makes me think their real home is rubbing shoulders with casual perusers at a loft gallery studio- one with an open fridge full of off-label beer and wine- they seem like the kind group who enjoy their modern art with a chaser of brewed and micro-batched that keeps the social juices flowing- sophisticated but not snobbish- cultured without condescension, refinement sans regalia. They're a garage rock band, and somewhat of a retro-styled one at that, but not of the trucker hat, denim tuxedo dawning, Mellencamp glazing variety. No, Perennials have swerved around the draw of said backwaters drift, emerging from the tides of time looking fresh and pretty from the rinse on their third LP Art History. Taking a stucco-strewn, art pop approach to classic R'n'B brushed mod rock, the group performs a bristly, pip-cleaner tapered testament to '50s flair and new wave-esque lightly varnish pop-glimmer. Not quite as filthy as the Dirtbombs but more viscerally keeled than the Lyres, they strike the center of a supple cleft between bombast and bridled restraint that cuts a vital edge around each hook with a sculptor's eye before dropping them in succession on the listener like a stack of limited-run flatware from three stories up- the impact is immediate and lasting, and you're going to be marveling at the precious little bits of bejeweled porcelain and ditty-bop melodies you'll be picking out of your skull for weeks following the encounter. Small-batch, sparingly shaped, but with mass appeal, Prennial's hi-fi high jinks are the kind of art that aims to make history.
