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| Noripcord |
 Even if Florida is known as a populous state, there’s generally something about the "Sunshine State" that can irritate even an aficionado of city life. There are the elongated highways that cross and converge to connect over long and winding plain terrains that seem to take forever to get from A to B; the high levels of humidity; and the glossy, artificial beach tans that dress some incredibly commonplace beaches. Beneath a fleeting carcass of flamingos and palm trees, a promising band from Pompano Beach dares to be different.With all fairness, Florida does have an appealing underground circuit like many regions do. They can’t be held accountable for being based in a state that brought us so many musical blunders. In fact, many famous Floridians are quite talented, some notables being big-band jazz performer Pat Boone and the always underrated Tom Petty. Of course, the extent of Jim Morrison's talent is entirely a debatable matter. It was pretty clear from the outset that the Postmarks were demolishing idiosyncrasies and looking elsewhere for some musical enlightenment. Which is considerably understandable, being born myself in a colonial territory that scourges such modern musical landscapes like salsa, derivative pop balladry, and reggaeton. In actuality, that's not as bad as witnessing an ever-increasing hipster crowd that is still trying to distinguish the musical differences between Television and The Velvet Underground. Far worse, figuring out the differences between varying stylistic approaches – boys with their skinny jeans and girls wearing granny dresses. Point being, Florida, as kitschy as it may be, genuinely feels like Florida. The Postmarks started as a deliberately behind-the-shadows indie pop band with delicate harmonizing, Sunflower-era Beach Boys influences, and playful keyboard touches with slight string arrangements. A bit reminiscent of late era Cardigans and still missing in action Swedish pop act The Concretes, their musical was sublimely beautiful, although it occasionally lacked character. Their light melodies, blended with sophisticated pop attire, proved that they deserved far more than a Saint Etienne opening slot for the rest of their career....full text |
| Pitchfork |
| If the Postmarks' delightful, weather-obsessed, self-titled 2007 debut didn't quite catch fire, blame the times. As bands of musicologist types fronted by fetching lady singers go, the Miami trio doesn't quite have the cosmopolitan chic of seductive NYC labelmates Ivy nor London's dance culture-conscious Saint Etienne. Yet they're not nearly as homespun as any number of pleated-skirt, jangly indie pop acts that live or die by the tambourine, either. Up the shamble factor, and they could well be regulars at Indietracks and the NYC, Athens, and New England Popfests, not selling many records but cultivating a cultishly devout international fanbase happily adorned in "Tim Postmarks" one-inch buttons. Put on a little more polish, and they might find themselves music-supervisor darlings, routinely opening sold out concert hall tours for, say, Pink Martini. Instead? They're in some kind of listener-demographic limbo, a Venn-diagram sliver between "professional" and "adorable"-- and in today's caste culture, that can spell utter obscurity. The problem isn't lost on the Postmarks, who, rather than dial it down DIY-ward, have ramped it up to the rafters with their second full-length collection of originals, Memoirs at the End of the World. In case the title and cover art didn't clue you in, this is the Postmarks hopped up on some Mancini/Morricone/John Barry axis of cinephilia (something they touched on on last year's cover outing By the Numbers) and embracing all the bold horns, cascading strings, and percussive panache that come with it. Lavish and evocative are the keywords here; there's even a harpsichord effect on "Go Jetsetter", a jazz trumpet outro on "Theme From 'Memoirs'", and some sitar business on the sumptuously arranged "All You Ever Wanted". Several tracks also showcase a hitherto unheard grit: "Don't Know Till You Try", with its electronic chirps and dramatic brass, starts out sounding like a lite version of Broadcast's "Pendulum", while "For Better...Or Worse?" has all the tension of a spy thriller chase sequence, complete with a timpani-accented finale. Some more discerning listeners might rightly accuse the band of studio arsenal overkill, but for the most part Memoirs congeals into a thing of pristine orchestrated pop beauty. There isn't a misstep on here, even if you probably won't hear an out-and-out single either....full text |
| Allmusic |
| The Postmarks' self-titled debut album had a quiet beauty that was founded in the trio's love of Burt Bacharach, bossa nova, and the baroque pop sounds of late-'60s bands like the Left Banke. Centered on the whispered yet powerful vocals of Tim Yehezkely, the album had a restrained, rainy-day charm that made it one of the best pop albums of 2007. After an album of covers in 2008 (By-the-Numbers), the band came back in 2009 with a decidedly different-sounding album. Memoirs at the End of the World is still centered on Yehezkely's lovely vocals, but instead of hazy, subtle arrangements, the group has gone all-out into the world of film music. They've traded the Bacharach for John Barry, the Astrud Gilberto for Shirley Bassey. The songs are tricked out in huge-sounding string sections, bombastic horns, atmospheric electronics, and all sorts of sounds you might hear in film scores from the 1960s. It's an approach that is quite off-putting at first, especially if you were hoping for an album that sounded similar to the debut. Getting past the initial shock, though, some things become clear. The group still writes wonderfully melancholic ("No One Said This Would Be Easy," "I'm in Deep") and irresistibly catchy ("All You Ever Wanted," "Go Jetsetter") songs. Yehezkely sounds great as the chanteuse standing in the middle of the swirling cinematic setting, alternately breaking hearts and charming the pants off you with ease. Most importantly, though, is the realization that the Postmarks are darn good at writing, playing, arranging, and producing atmospheric film music. They've obviously absorbed lots of classic scores and studied great composers like Henry Mancini, John Barry, Lalo Schifrin, and Roy Budd. The music they've created here is clearly in debt to the sounds those men made, but remains a Postmarks product due to one simple fact: none of the aforementioned composers could have written pop songs as breezy and nonchalant as those found on Memoirs. There is an easy grace at the middle of their sound that is at odds with soundtrack music, an indie pop core that keeps the album from being overdone or fussy. Most of the credit has to go to Yehezkely's intimate vocals and restrained lyrics; she keeps things grounded even when the harpsichords, strings, and horns threaten to carry the songs off. Even though the album may be enough of a stretch that it could chase away many of the band's fans, if you give it a chance, Memoirs at the End of the World is a completely successful melding of the Postmarks' autumnal sweetness with the elevated drama and epic nature of film scores....full text |
The Postmarks lyrics
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