Receive Weekly Email and Text Message Updates:
Sign up for latest info on concerts, dining, promotions and more!
Go!

Related Stories ...

Most Popular

Reader's Picks

Top Recommendations

A short list of Phoenix's most popular hot spots.
user content provided by: LikeMe.net & Phoenix New Times

National Features >

  • City Pages

    Michele Bachmann, Unmuzzled

    You don't need to read Sarah Palin's book to hear the ravings of a mad woman.

    By Matt Snyders

  • Miami New Times

    Pimp Daddy

    The rise and fall of a chubby sex-cult leader.

    By Natalie O'Neill

  • Riverfront Times

    Babe 'n' Arms

    Tom was a hot-tempered cross-dresser with a garage full of guns--and then he became Rachel.

    By Nicholas Phillips

  • Dallas Observer

    The Fight for Texas

    Rick Perry and Kay Bailey Hutchison are locked in a battle over the soul of the GOP. They're also running for governor.

    By Sam Merten

Margot & the Nuclear So and So's

Share

  • rss

By Chris Parker

Published on May 20, 2008 at 4:54pm

From the music to their name, there's an unmistakable precociousness at play with Margot & the Nuclear So & So's — perhaps not surprising given the moniker was inspired by The Royal Tenenbaums. Certainly don't hold it against singer/guitarist Richard Edwards and his seven compatriots, who manage to thread the needle between the Arcade Fire's vibrant, unpredictable art rock and the navel-gazing tweeness typically associated with K Records. The Indianapolis octet's debut, The Dust of Retreat, balances careening, string- and horn-fueled arrangements with sweet, melodious broken-hearted odes, lightened by a bit of playfulness, as on "Paper Kitten Nightmare," where Edwards meows the chorus like an old Meow Mix commercial. Unlike many chamber pop-oriented acts, Margot rock convincingly ("Barfight Revolution, Power Violence") despite their preference for ringing, folk-tinged melodies. Edwards' breathy tenor drifts through the music with the melancholy downcast air of '80s New Wave romantics: "I am alive and that is the best that I can do," Edwards sings at one point, before complaining, "My love is dressing me like a clown." The shambling, meandering pace contributes to the homey sound, which, while not lo-fi, is decidedly unfussy for something so orchestrated. Their signing to a major (Epic releases their followup, Animal, in July) offers further evidence of their idiosyncratic charms.