Caught in the Carousel

Steve Goldberg and the Arch Enemies

Steve Goldberg and the Arch Enemies
Independent

Steve Goldberg and the Arch Enemies

In college my senior thesis was on Coleridge’s Kubla Khan and the function of mystery and consciousness in poetic verse. Ambitious enough, I suppose, but looking back, if I had wanted a higher grade than the D+ I got, I probably should have:

A. Actually read Kubla Khan.
B. Backed off the vodka and Oreos.

So I was disorganized and lazy—what college student isn’t? Uh…Steve Goldberg. Not lazy at all, this kid. In fact, Goldberg started writing songs as soon as he got to college, perfected his craft enough to play live while studying abroad in England and then came home and laid down ten tracks for his Senior project. And yes, he got an A. Bristling with preternatural pop smarts, ambitious arrangements and lyrical proclivities that would suggest a man who’s been at this for years, Goldberg’s debut is a colossal and important find. Combining the lyrical naïveté of Jonathan Richman (“She makes a fine fondue/A savory steak au jus”) and the pop immediacy of everyone from The Monkees to the iconoclastic indie outfit Bikeride, Goldberg is at once both a good study and a true innovator. Part travelogue, part romantic chronicle, Goldberg’s debut perfectly captures the earnest aspirations of youth where everything seems not only possible, but immediately attainable, provided one is willing to take a leap or two. Impossibly catchy, “The Road” comes across like a cartoon version of “Born To Run” (“You and me in the Cadillac/A stack of old yellow paperbacks/Two hearts that melt just like candlewax”); “February Third” sounds like The Hollies and Barenaked Ladies at a swap meet and the textured “23rd Century Identity Crisis” is a rushing pop gem. Goldberg’s humor is mixed perfectly with sincerity and nowhere is this more apparent than on “Julia,” a ballad that comes with all of the poetic precision of Paul Simon. Although on the surface Goldberg appears to be messing around as he implores his muse to play D&D and “watch The Goonies on VHS,” it’s actually here that he’s at his most sincere. “Julia,” he later sings, “I ain’t foolin’ ya/I’m low on stamina/So give me a sign.” It’s an unflinching moment and one that’s not to be taken lightly: his humor is fading without an indication that she’s on board. Elsewhere, “The Spy (Part 1)” is a somehow sugary cloak and dagger number, while “Summer’s Ending” is a wistful meditation that’s as much about the end of a season as it is the end of a relationship. Sonically refreshing and loaded with the kind of narrative velocity that makes critics rush for the word “timeless,” Goldberg’s seemingly endless charm might very well single-handedly revitalize indie pop.

—Alex Green