On their second album, Broken Equipment, Bodega just about finish the process of sanding off the rough sonic edges that began on their 2019 EP Shiny New Model. The jagged post-punk of their debut album now comes closer to having a new wave sparkle with a bouncier rhythm section, louder guitars, and blippy keyboards. Singer Ben Hozie is still prone to shout his lines with all the subtlety of a carnival barker, but there are also a couple songs where he almost croons a little. His counterpart Nikki Belfiglio sounds like she ...
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On their second album, Broken Equipment, Bodega just about finish the process of sanding off the rough sonic edges that began on their 2019 EP Shiny New Model. The jagged post-punk of their debut album now comes closer to having a new wave sparkle with a bouncier rhythm section, louder guitars, and blippy keyboards. Singer Ben Hozie is still prone to shout his lines with all the subtlety of a carnival barker, but there are also a couple songs where he almost croons a little. His counterpart Nikki Belfiglio sounds like she went out and bought an even bigger wig, all the better to channel both Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson at the same time. When she takes the lead on the snaky new wave charmer "Territorial Call of the Female" or the biting rocker "Statuette on the Console," Bodega take an exciting step into a brave new future. Other new tricks include the sweet acoustic ballad that closes the album ("After Jane"), the insistent punk funk of "Doers," and a handful of songs where Hozie softens his oft-strident singing and lets some vulnerability creep in. On "Pillar on the Bridge of You" and the bracingly honest "All Past Lovers," he turns down the politics in favor of something more personal and strikes an emotional chord that the band usually strut right past. Along with these songs that bring some new shades of color into the group's monochromatic approach, there are plenty of strong examples of their unusual sound. "Thrown"'s stream-of-consciousness lyrics and taut LCD-esque beat start the album off with a sharp blow to the solar plexus, the spiky punk of "How Can I Help Ya?" is a big bowl of fun, and "C.I.R.P." is a stripped-down rant that boils their appeal down to the basics. It's good that Bodega deliver quite a few bracing examples of the kind of post-punk that made their name; even cleaned up a bit, it still has impact. Add in the stylistic stretching they do -- all successful -- and it makes for a fine second album from a band who could have easily been nothing more than a one-trick pony. ~ Tim Sendra, Rovi
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