Antarcticats - I Know You Are But What Am I (2018)

Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up. We love our local surf kids Antarcticats, but they promised they’d meet us here a whole year ago after they slipped their new calling card, “Teeth,” under our door. Fortunately, the Cats know the cardinal rule of tardiness: if you’re going to be late, then you better bring something killer to the party. You know, like a gallon carton of coffee and two dozen donuts, or three large pizzas from Papa Johns with extra garlic sauce. That’s just the sort of treat that Antarcticats heave in with their first proper album I Know You Are, But What Am I? You’ll find a few flavors inside that you didn’t expect them to carry, but you’ll still have no problem feeding a whole room of rock-hungry fans with the hearty contents within.

Now, you eagle-eyed readers will note that I didn’t use the term “punk” once in the above paragraph. That’s because our protagonists are branching out from the thorny tangles of their first EP Short Stories, guided upward like a bound tomato plant into poppier territory. Of course, if you were paying attention, this shouldn’t surprise you—and indeed, a polished re-do of their Elvis Costello-esque “Amateur” connects the melodic dots from the follow-up EP Irregardless. Cleaner lines and cooler tempos lend I Know that classic guitar pop aesthetic, especially when the Cats dip into golden oldie doo-wop on “Last Night” and “Back By Midnight.” Seamless segues between songs also fortify this as a legit album, a solid thing consumed back to front like albums of yore.

However! Should you fret that Antarcticats have retreated into boring rock n’ roll revisionism, worry not! The punks can still pogo confidently to I Know’s meatier side, especially on “Rectangles,” a wild anti-authoritative romp that fires potshots at privileged business elites who expect the world to revolve around them. And, even a year on, “Teeth” still doesn’t fail to build, crest, crash, and build again like the best of ’em (Tijuana Panthers, anyone?). You can bet that the A-Cats’ latest recruit, lead guitarist Lisa Rossi, steers the band to these crazy waves, but everyone adds to the thrill. Both Chris Senador and Chad Miller (bass and drums, respectively) know exactly where to hang tight, and where to let go, so Andrew Joyce can hang ten on top.

If that still sounds too predictable, though, worry not still! A moodier strand of college rock lends an unexpected mid-80s vibe to the latter half of the record, even as the Cats retain their surf-shredding attitude. “Pony” sounds like one of those long lost singles that must’ve aired for the first time on 120 Minutes, alongside the Icicle Works or the Mighty Lemon Drops (yeah, I know, I’m such a nerd). Meanwhile, the jaw-dropping closer “Eosophobia” (“the fear of dawn,” in case you wondered) shifts deftly from suave and slow into a post-rock fever dream. But the most striking thread in the Cats’ new duds is “Groovy Grace,” a reverb-washed take on indie pop that breaks down into a curiously sublime swoon.

If we return to the generously gifted donut dozen of the intro, these three could be the ones filled with grape jelly. And you wouldn’t expect those to be a hit, but nope, they’ll be the first to go, while the standard glazed ones—like the straight-up Squeeze/Shins (depends on which generation you ask) bop of “You’ve Got Something”—wait patiently in the box. Everything’s tasty, but it’s the deviations I come back to. So while the A-Cat bakers threw in more surprises in this debut batch than most bands would dare, here’s hoping they toss more daring flavors in the next one.