Send "The Hundred in the Hands " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Pitchfork |
 "Competent" is the word that comes to mind when discussing singer Eleanore Everdell and Jason Friedman's debut full-length as the Hundred in the Hands. Over the course of 41 minutes, the NYC duo deliver slice after slice of buzzy, dancey new wave, with little fanfare or provocation; there's something to admire in how capably they capture their genre's most crowd-pleasing signifiers. In a musical culture when artists are sometimes awarded points just for showing up, these two come to the party dressed to the nines, with a few bottles of (tastefully presented) booze and their genre's most crowd-pleasing, familiar signifiers to share.In terms of cheap thrills, then, there's plenty to like here-- particularly, the echoed throb of single "Pigeons" or "Dead Ending"'s slinky disco. As a front-to-back listening experience, however, most of these songs lose any sort of pleasurable impact they'd have as standalone cuts, instead coagulating into a near-shapeless mass of mid-tempo melody. As a whole, the thing kind of feels like a dulled switchblade: it might look shiny, but good luck drawing blood with it. One problem is Everdell's vocals. Throughout the record, she alternates between a cool, cosmopolitan patter and the kind of high-pitched, volume-raising plead that has made Karen O famous. You don't get the feeling that anything's at stake, and the fact that most of her lyrics could be mistaken for leftovers from the last Metric record doesn't help....full text |
| Bbc |
| Hailing from – where else? – Brooklyn, The Hundred in the Hands are – what else? – a boy-girl duo who make sultry, electronic dance-pop. Already making their name on the blogosphere, this eponymous debut album arrives swathed in hype and expectation; though, thanks to fellow Brooklyn-based boy-girl electro-pop duo Sleigh Bells, there’s perhaps less than there may otherwise have been. That said, there is a noticeable difference between the music and approach of the two bands, and if Sleigh Bells are the truculent, hyper, troublesome younger sibling, then The Hundred in the Hands are the calmer, darker, older one. As such, Eleanore Everdell and Jason Friedman have tempered these 11 songs with an icy contemplation that permeates and informs the mood of the album as a whole. Young Aren’t Young, the opening gambit, begins with a tentative, timid electronic tinkle – an uncertain, unsure clearing of the throat – before the underlying beat kicks in and Everdell’s stoic yet tender, detached yet inviting vocals possess the song and take control of it. From there, the cool, collected confidence of the pair grows, and a strange robotic sensuality infuses Lovesick (Once Again) and Killing It, the two tender songs which follow. It’s a promising start – a triptych of bizarrely emotionless emotion – but the band then struggle to maintain that level throughout. The tub-thumbing kitsch of single Pigeons lacks the subtlety of the previous tracks and – despite its fantastic accompanying video – really sounds like a New York take on Eurotrash pop. Dead Ending and Last City suffer a similar fate, while the distinctly 80s guitars of Gold Blood make it sound, at times, like a Robert Palmer song (and not Addicted to Love). The sharp and spiky Dressed in Dresden injects some angular indie rock into the equation, which helps break the unyielding electromagnetic pulse....full text |
| Theregoesthefear |
| The Hundred in the Hands is an electropop duo from Brooklyn. You wouldn’t guess their genre from where they got their name: legend has it that they named themselves after the moniker the American Indian Lakota Nation gave to an American Indian / white man altercation in Wyoming in 1866, during which the natives were victorious and killed 100 white soldiers. A non sequitur to dance music, isn’t it? The duo’s music, however, shows no sign of this conflict, except maybe in the hard-hitting feeling you get listening to this diamond in the rough from Jason Friedman and Eleanore Everdell released this week. This album is in your face and refuses to be reined in. It’s certainly got more heart and is more substantial than LCD Soundsystem’s ‘This is Happening’, which is saying a lot. ‘Last City’ starts the album with gusto. The Ting Tings in their re-emerged form wish they could have written something so catchy. It’s the kind of song I imagine I’ll be pumping my fist to in Philadelphia on Sunday (when I see them live for the first time), the same kind of fist pumping inspired by Friendly Fires’ ‘Jump in the Pool’. Either that or frugging to it without a care in the world. ‘Dressed in Dresden’ is of a similar feeling. Everdell’s voice is at times disaffected as was accepted in the ‘80s electronic music tradition (think Gary Numan) and at times like the Deheza sisters of School of Seven Bells, otherworldly. But this album has a definite rock kick in it that should satisfy those who but enjoy the ephemeral vibe ala Beach House but aren’t fans of the Baltimore dream pop act, myself included (see ‘This Day is Made’). Despite what some rock bands think about using repetition, it doesn’t really work in their respective genre all that well. But repetition is dance music’s best friend. Take the shining gem of a track (no pun intended) ‘Gold Blood’ for instance. It’s got killer guitar riffs for one, but the vocals of “hold on, my gold blood” aren’t grating at all. If I wasn’t told the Hundred in the Hands was an ‘electropop act’ I wouldn’t have classed them this way at all. If you’re looking purely at the ‘electropop’ label, look no further than ‘Dead Ending’ and radio hit ‘Pigeons’, ready for the dance floor. Seriously good fun. The ‘80s are back, in a way. And I for one am not complaining....full text |
The Hundred in the Hands lyrics
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