Album Review: Passion Pit - Kindred

The world has caught up to Passion Pit.

By now, the maximalist pop sound they favour saturates the airwaves of youth radio and the heaving masses of festival punters breathe it in like an opiate. So where does Michael Angelakos and his team go from there? They turn it up to 11.

Kindred, their fourth studio release, is a super-dense, syrupy, glistening, orgasmic pop behemoth. It plays like a Flaming Lips album digitised and high on sugar. Angelakos has publicly struggled with mental health issues during his career, and perhaps this is another valiant push against them. It’s almost overwhelming how bright and full this album is, and it’s disarming in its infantile enthusiasm. As with most of his songwriting, it’s only on closer inspection that his lyrics reveal a more sombre agenda, but thematically it’s deftly handled.

The level of detail is high, but the overlapping tracks crush them into huge passages of texture and chord progression. A buoyant bass line maintains momentum, while Angelakos’ hyper-manipulated voice is a weapon that squeezes enjoyment out of the listener. Big wordless choruses and sparkling digital percussion dominate the landscape.

Opening track, Lifted Up (1985), is an impressive opening gambit. All the cards are on the table, and rather than build and unfold and push outward, it shoots forward at breakneck speed. You’re on board or searching for another album immediately. It’s uncompromising, but there’s an awful lot to enjoy here. Maybe go listen to a Mazzy Star record afterwards though.