Phantogram Employs a Wicked Electronic High To Set Off Sparks

For this review of electronica act Phantogram's "You Don't Get Me High Anymore", I'm going to employ the inner workings of a car wash to sell you on the difference between the main primal beats and the softer yet no less unsettling interludes. Hearing this is like going to the quickie car wash and sitting helpless as the battering scrubber sponges expose each speck of unwholesome crud that was ever on your vehicle. Then comes the soft hot wax that's supposed to uncork a compelling gloss to said vehicle. The sadistic half of you craves the scrubbers going full blast because that's the shop's power angle. So hefty is the cranium crunching keyboard work that you forget actual vocals are taking place here. Therein lies the added layer of night terror inducing chaos courtesy of femme tonsil flasher Sarah Barthel. What she says and the delivery she uses to put it across the port bow are equally scary. Let's put things this way shall we? Sarah sounds a little too excited about looking the abyss of death straight in the eyes. Nothing in better living through chemistry land appears fun anymore. Common complaint among the perpetually disenfranchised. Thank heavens for the soft airy stretches that appear as Sarah asks if you want to walk with her to the end. Sounds air brushed to the hilt and that's an ace up this song's sleeve. "You Don't Get Me High Anymore" blends aggression and gentle dreaminess like they were concepts made to stand side by side, brothers in the face melting arts. Lots of pumped out drumming to get you beats per minute up to that all important aerobic level. Sarah needs drug stimulation but the high now requires a more concentrated four tier dose. Co-conspirator Josh Carter has his sights set on ladling out the meanest guitar licks he can scrounge up. He succeeds beyond his wildest expectations. He's the multitasking fiend who can work those licks in between Sarah's deceptively soothing keyboard fills. She glorifies wild rides through emergency room corridors. She looks to be an OD victim waiting to be discovered. Druggies tend to skate that dangerous line separating recreational use from morgue identification. Sarah's line "Used to take one. Now it takes four" speaks to how a drug user's tolerance escalates if initial dosage gets absorbed convincingly enough. "You Don't Get Me High Anymore" sings praises of hitting rock bottom, of how everyone's stoned in some form so why not enjoy the in progress carnage. Sarah's voice cuts through the clutter and uses a buffed sledgehammer to do it. The woman requires stimulation of the pill popping persuasion. The old manner of supply isn't working anymore. Josh uses the wise move of stepping back and letting Sarah uncork her heretofore stifled rage. This number screams like a user going through the to be expected detox stages. First the comedown, then the cleanup phase. Rough edges work wonders. They give the song an antidote needle's proper bite. Overall "You Don't Get Me High Anymore" merits respect, whether high or sober as a judge. It should gift you with that electronic high you didn't even know you were craving.