Jeans Wilder – Nice Trash (2011) [Atelier Ciseaux/LA Station Radar] // Grade: A-

It’s been a big 18 months for chillwave. As far as I can tell, though I’m sure there was some under-underground beginnings that I’m entirely unaware of, it’s gone from 0 to 60, or, more likely, a nice, comfy, top-down 25. Despite it’s popularity, no one could bring up it’s existence without also acknowledging the buckets of ire that have also been directed towards it. I find that this happens with most newer genres that rocket to ubiquity, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it doesn’t have it’s problems.

Most obviously people seem to condemn it’s perceived sameness: that different artists, and even songs, are indistinguishable from each other. I guess that this can be true at times, but go ahead and turn on literally any radio station and see if you don’t start to feel the same way about a multitude of other genres. No, if there was one faceless, mostly unqualified, cheeto driven internet complaint I would level at chillwave it would be some of the artists attempt to falsely exploit the quality of a sun bleached, polaroid photographed, emotionally honest fun. So my long winded point is: I like Nice Trash because not only does it have enough of a unique sound to stand out, but it also, mostly for the best, sounds genuine. Jeans Wilder tries out all different things on Nice Trash, never content to stick to one specific sound, even if sometimes that experimentation may lead them slightly astray.

I’m a particular fan of the foreboding electronic presence on “Be My Shade,” and it’s dreamy ecstatic counterpart on “International Waters.” Then, suddenly, on tracks like “In My Dreams” you’re treated to a straight up execution of doo-wop. Not to say that this album doesn’t stay in a decided low-gear (you’re not getting any guitar solo’s folks), it never settles into any sort of rut. The album’s mood can’t be summed up by a grainy picture of a beach. So, like it or not, chillwave seems here to stay. But as long as artists like Jeans Wilder are willing to use the genre as a launching pad instead of a security blanket, I’m sure it’ll be fine.

- Whole Milk