*** Mike Levy
FIREFLIES
(Parasol)
With his old outfit, the Sneetches, Mike Levy made some of the most gorgeous-sounding pop records of the
1980s and ’90s, mining the warm, pillowy ecstasy of bands like the Left Banke, the Zombies, and the
Beach Boys for a new era’s audience. That tradition continues on Levy’s solo debut, which, thanks to
a sporadic recording schedule, took five years to make. But rather than sounding like the piecemeal
effort it must have been, Fireflies comes across as elegant, uncluttered, and self-assured.
Most of the material centers on piano, but with expansive flourishes of guitar and horns and a melodic
emphasis on Levy’s pristine, smooth-as-glass vocals. And though Levy handles most of the
instrumentation himself, appearances from his former Sneetches üandmates give this album the warm,
fuzzy glow of symbiotic forces being reunited. The Todd Rundgren/Eric Carmen–esque opener, “Someone
like You,” is hung on a simple but memorable piano figure and lyric, with Levy’s voice all sequins and
stardust. That plush vibe continues right through to the closing title track, which sounds like Brian
Wilson suspended in childlike animation. Like the similarly dispositioned Jason Faulkner, Levy has an
instinctive feel for the strong but soothing hook. So much so that even on tracks whose titles
telegraph their downcast lyrical bent — the Abbey Road’ish “Away from My Head” and “(There’s
Always) Something Wrong” — sunny sophistication belies a darker depression lurking just below the
surface.
— Jonathan Perry
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