In thermodynamics, “free energy” is a measure of available power and spontaneity, how much potential heat and spark can be unleashed in the space of a reaction. Even if it might initially give you some pause to take a physics lesson from a group called Dummy, it’s an apt metaphor for the creative alchemy on the Los Angeles band’s second full-length album. Hard-won originality and explosive release are central to the group’s appeal; its songs are endlessly evocative yet utterly distinct. On Free Energy, Dummy have distilled their influences into music that’s as free-floating and airy as it is scorchingly combustible, weaving pummeling shoegaze guitar, dissonant electronics, and serene pockets of jazzy ambience into expertly crafted psych-pop.
Dummy’s wide-ranging sound reflects a rigorous study and synthesis of their wildly eclectic forebears: My Bloody Valentine by way of Laraaji, Stereolab by way of The Byrds. Even at their most joyfully immediate, Dummy take a perverse glee in emphasizing just how easy their music isn’t: “Making music shouldn’t be fun” is the group’s long-time Bandcamp bio, never mind that they called their debut Mandatory Enjoyment. This deadpan-dourness is both a long-running joke and a reminder that the originality the band yields is no accident but a product of highly disciplined work. Where the greatness of Mandatory Enjoyment was in how successfully the group collaged its influences, on Free Energy, Dummy succeeds in burning away those raw edges altogether, resulting in an unbound sound that’s unmistakably their own.
Free Energy is a record of altered states made incredibly fun and navigable. Dummy’s songwriting is cryptic and fragmentary, grappling from moment to moment with turbulent emotions as they blaze to the fore. There’s traces of the same meta cleverness that defined their last LP, especially on “Unshaped Road” which dramatizes the thrill and exhaustion of indie rockers: “Empty pockets feel pure…Feeling the weight/Begging for more each day/Come find me/Haven’t had enough yet.” But more often, the songs are multicolor free-falls into dreamy or unsettling landscapes. Many of the titles are drawn (Grimes-like) from advanced physics and niche video game references, which give the impression of cohesive, if bizarro, world-building. “Minus World,” for instance, is a study of dawning panic that, if looked at sideways, also doubles as a first person-account of being stranded in the infamous Super Mario Bros. glitch level.
This dislocation is reinforced by the thrilling instability of the music itself. “Unshaped Road” pulls a production trick worthy of Kevin Shields, building the song out over a bruising bass tone that gradually tilts off its axis until the only accompaniment to Alex Ewell’s athletic drumming is a squall of roaring feedback. In “Nullspace,” Joe Trainor’s hard-driving guitar riff is made to surf over rubbery synths that sound like a cartoon character perpetually slipping on an oil slick. Like a hypnotist’s cue, the recurrence of a pinging synth loop on “Soonish…” prompts the band to rage and recede on cue.
