On their debut full length, Gentle Grip, Public Practice reanimate the spirit of late ‘70s New York with their playfully angular yet thoughtful brand of no wave-meets-funk and dark disco.
Magnetic singer and lyricist Sam York and guitarist and principal sonic architect Vince McClelland (who previously played together as members of the meteoric yet short-lived NYC post-punk outfit WALL) come to the table with an anarchic perspective that aims to eradicate creative barriers by challenging the very idea of what a song can be. Paradoxically, Drew Citron, on bass/vocals/synth, and drummer/producer Scott Rosenthal (both previously of Brooklyn indie-pop favorites Beverly) are uncannily adept at working within the framework of classic pop structures. But instead of clashing, these contrasting styles challenge and complement one another, resulting in an album full of spiraling tensions and unexpected turns.
Lyrically, York explores the complexities and contradictions of modern life overtop dance-inducing rhythms and choruses that disarmingly open up the doors to self-reflection. “You don’t want to live a lie / But it’s easy” York sings on “Compromised,” the record’s brisk, gyrating lead single. As York puts it, “No one’s moral compass reads truth north at all times. We all want to be our best green recycling selves, but still want to buy the shiny new shoes — how do you emotionally navigate through that? How do you balance material desires with the desire to be seen as morally good?” Towards the slinkier end of the album’s aural spectrum, songs like the supremely danceable “My Head” — which is about tuning out the incessant influx of external noise and finding your own internal groove — are more personally political while still hearkening the last days of disco.
But whether they are poking holes in commonly held ideas centered around relationships, creativity, or capitalism, Public Practice never lose sight of the fact that they want to have fun, and they want you to have fun too. After all, who wants to stand on top of a soapbox when there’s a dark, sweaty dancefloor out there with room on it for all of us?
Keep your mind open.
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