White Denim hit a new peak on the luxuriously layered 12

Although White Denim’s music has always exhibited degrees of glass-half-full philosophy, 12 is a remarkably sunny album, almost as if palm trees, eternal sunshine, beaches and other stereotypical signifiers of bandleader and creative director (and sole constant in an ever-shifting line-up) James Petralli’s current base in Los Angeles have somehow seeped their way on to the grooves of this record.

There’s real depth here too. Shaped by the inevitably stressful, if not downright existential challenges that the covid pandemic provided for working musicians, the (of course) twelve tracks on 12 aren’t afraid to dig deep and tackle the heavy stuff head-on, but the occasional ruminative introspection is clad in some of the band’s most warm, caressing and instantly hooky melodies ever. It’s futile to pick highlights from such a seamlessly inspired album, but the way “I Still Exist” weds self-doubt and carrying on even as the odds are stacked against you to a positively heavenly melody that leans towards both the string-powered lushness of classic Philly soul and new wave sophisticates like Joe Jackson is particularly powerful.

Part of 12’s not inconsiderable charm is rooted in a shift in core points of reference and an enforced transformation of Petralli’s preferred organic working methods. Originally from Austin, Texas, White Denim first gained renown with markedly soulful and musically advanced (occasionally bordering on slickness) reboots of sweaty garage rock and post-punk templates. Seeking fresh inspiration for 12, Petralli waded waist-deep into 1980s forward-thinking art-pop (Scritti Politti, Orange Juice) and the exquisite craftsmanship of master songwriters ala Nick Lowe, with a sideline in vintage dub reggae production techniques.

The result doesn’t really sound like any of these influences: this is still recognisably a White Denim record, but with the previously hinted-at soul influences pushed into the spotlight, and the painstakingly multi-layered yet still charmingly loose and playful (is that a key-tar we can hear?) arrangements hinting at the extensive studio hibernations of, say, Steely Dan. Yet what really makes 12 stand out is Petralli’s willingness to filter the exquisite source material through joyously messy production techniques. Taking on production duties for the first time, and with covid limiting opportunities for more ‘live’ methods of recording, Petralli invited contributions from a large cast musicians, including both past and present members of White Denim and players Petralli has never actually met. The resulting, potentially bewildering volume of tracks could have easily lead to an over-egged mess, but Petralli has clearly learnt to embrace and harness the plentiful potential for chaos: the richly resonant opener “Light On” (for example) gives every impression that at least two bands are playing simultaneously, with some seemingly random sounds also leaking in to the mix, but the restlessly throbbing arrangement only adds to the tune’s bittersweet swoon. At the opposite end of the hyperactivity scale, the trumpet-led, elegantly hushed closer “Precious Child” brings to mind the kind of bruised ballads Prince might have written in the key of Curtis Mayfield and The Impressions.

Whereas White Denim’s output has occasionally in the past brought to mind a musical polymath trying on different outfits to see which one will fit, 12 feels like White Denim’s most direct, emotionally honest and cohesive (not to mention unabashedly catchy) album.