September 9, 2004

Felix da Housecat

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Felix da Housecat hearkens back to those wooly days of Velcro and neon-green tracksuits with little lightning decorations on the outside. Appealing to the children of VH1 I Love the ’80s and decorative pyramids of ecstasy, his new album arrives after much acclaim on the Chicago club circuit and several kitsch-classics on Emperor Norton.

The new album can safely be considered more of the same, offering very little apart from spirited synth walks and 808 claptrap. Certainly, the beats are more elaborate and riddled with blistering acid-funk guitar, but this is actually sort of a detraction from Felix’s main appeal: a vast recession back into the streamlined simplicity and four-on-the-floor days of early house. Felix’s actual voice, humming seductions and terrible puns, is like a remnant of George Clinton’s swollen larynx, confident and clinically insane.

On tracks like “Short Skirts” and “Everyone Is Someone in LA,” mannequin vocals tear apart the shreds of hooks that were cheesy when Bananarama did them twenty years ago and Ladytron did them last year.

Archived article by Alex Linhardt
Red Letter Daze Editor