I've always said if there's one place that I could absolutely live without ever stepping foot in, it would be New Jersey. The thought of orange-dyed men with half-buttoned button-downs and blow-outs ordering Jägerbombs makes me cringe so hard I may need Botox to set my face straight. Away from the shore, ten miles from the New York State border, lies Real Estate's domain; born and raised, fellow New Jersey haters/up-in-coming haze-pop heavyweights. Friends since high school, they've released a record of what they know best: suburbia-living, summer-time flashbacks, and well-crafted compositions, fluctuating from lo-fi beach pop to noisy psychedelics, occasionally establishing a lazy medium.

Let's be honest, hanging out at the beach, catching rays isn't cool, by indie-hipster standards. We pride ourselves on our milky pigments and spindly frames. So for a band that is quintessentially an “It band” to sing songs about such things - it's nigh unheard-of. “Beach Comber” hides no cryptic messages. It kicks off the record with Martin Courtney's reverbed vocals, bouncing off of poppy guitar-licks, subtle bass lines, and laid-back percussion. I mean, the guitar part alone just sounds like it'd be fun to play. He mentions Pensacola Beach, which provokes a certain sense of nostalgia for me, having grown up in Florida, spending many weekends with family scouring the shoreline for treasures. In essence, that is what this record is all about - sentimentality. What else are a group of friends who were just reunited after four years apart going to talk/write about. For them, it's a look back at summers long-gone in the suburbs. It's not all about the summertime though. Prime example: “Snow Days,” a track as equally nostalgic, but with a frostbitten twist. Endearing acoustics pave the way for Courtney's croon, where he voices “February down by the shore / the waters never freeze / Despite the ice and snow / snow up too your knees.” It takes until the record is finished for us to snap back into reality and realize it actually is cold as hell outside!

When you think of the word “instrumental” dealing in a pop album, your low expectations are inherent. “Probably just another pretentious intro, or a bland track to take up space,” is usually the case. Not so on this record. “Atlantic City” is 110 seconds of sunny guitar layered over plucked bass lines and tropical percussion. It's passes by so fast, you just wish it would stick around for a bit longer. So they bumped it up to just under five minutes with “Lets Rock the Beach,” another voiceless tune of island-nature. Or at least I think I'd say it has an island-vibe, but it's hard to decide if there are only twinges of psychedelia. I'll leave it at this: if you had a pleasant acid trip on a desolate beach, this would be the soundtrack to your adventure.

Before this debut, Real Estate released a few 7-inches. From those, a few tracks were selected and re-recorded for this album. “Fake Blues” slings together ringing guitars and heavy hitting bass drum with ease, winding and unwinding with Courtney's mellow vocals. Similar to a morphine drop, it hits you hard before the finish. On this record, nearly every tracks flows seamlessly from one to the next, but in there lies a fault. At times you swear you were listening to one song, loose track of time and space, and notice you just finished something completely different. A stand out would have to be “Black Lake,” reminiscent of old radio tunes, seemingly synced from a Honolulu luau. Lo-fi, dreamy guitar lulls you away with the talk of closed lids. Wake up, Courtney states the lo-fi aspect of this record wasn't intentional, but an unwanted end-product of their shady recording process: ”I think it sounds good for sure, but it’s not a choice we made to sound that way. It’s just the way it is.” Well, it may not be the highest fidelity, but is does add to the omnipresent nostalgia. Yet another re-recorded track, “Suburban Beverage” shares those same blurred edges. This is a jammy jam, to put it simply. Only one repetitive question is asked;“Budweiser Sprite, do you feel alright?” No question, Sprite is clearly the ultimate suburban beverage. Next to Dr. Pepper.

I may know next to nothing about the housing market and its mysterious ways, but after the record ceases to spin, what I can say is that I'm pro-Real Estate. Given, I still don't plan on visiting New Jersey anytime soon.

Track List:
1. Beach Comber (4: 29)
2. Pool Swimmers (3: 16)
3. Suburban Dogs (4: 36)
4. Black Lake (3: 30)
5. Atlantic City (1: 50)
6. Fake Blues (3: 41)
7. Green River (2: 40)
8. Suburban Beverage (6: 10)
9. Lets Rock the Beach (4: 42)
10 Snow Days (4: 23)