The third volume of lo-fi bedroom electro-pop wizardry from the one-man band that is The Russian Futurists maintains the same cartoonishly bouncy hooks, scratchy music library samples and Mini Pops dance party beats, but brain trust Matthew Adam Hart's bittersweet lyrics take a swift detour to full-on mopeland. Dude cribs a page from the Postal Service book on writing elegantly literate indie poetry about faraway love, fucked-up love, missing love and looking for love (in all the wrong places) while sighing like Wayne Coyne on a Quaalude-and-helium bender. But because Hart buries his sad-boy voice beneath layers of sunny synths and guitars that mirror the singsong vocal melodies, Our Thickness is actually quite a cheery listen. Fewer endlessly repetitive song structures would be a nice touch, though.
The Russian Futurists launches his CD at the El Mocambo Saturday (April 23).