Review: Like New by Purr
By Carly Tagen-Dye
New York City’s indie rock duo Purr will always have a special place in my heart because, at one point, I thought I’d lost them for good. When I was in high school, I was obsessed with a band I’d discovered on the depths of the internet called Jack and Eliza. Their sultry, lo-fi tunes made my angsty teen years feel a little less lonely and much more warmer (“White Satin” was a particular favorite to escape the dreary East Coast to). I listened to their music on repeat, captivated by the sixties style and calming guitar riffs, hoping to become as cool as they were one day. The group seemingly disappeared after a few years, and I forgot about them in turn; that is, until, I moved to New York last year and found that those two somber songwriters had gone and formed another project. I found them in the most Brooklyn way possible: opening for a band I was seeing at a tiny dive bar in Williamsburg on one of my first nights in the city.
Purr is everything I missed about Jack and Eliza, and all those teenage nights spent in my room, losing myself in songs with names like “Secrets” and “Oh No.” Now, Purr, (pioneered by Jack Staffen and Eliza Callahan), is amplified by a packed set of fresh, equally enchanting songs. Like New, their debut album released February 21 via Anti Records, feels like the only title appropriate for a band shedding their old skin and stepping into another.
Like New rings familiar bells for fans of the modern vintage sound that’s creeping back into the mainstream. Produced by indie mastermind Jonathan Rado (associated with acts like Foxygen, Father John Misty, and Weyes Blood), the record sounds right at home within the seventies. It’s especially fitting for Purr; when listening to the group, one feels like they’re somewhere unearthly and not of this time. Tracks like “Giant Night” and “Refuse” are layered with upright piano and echoey vocals; the auditory equivalent of what a lazy afternoon in the ocean feels like. Words mesh into melting guitar licks and softshoe percussion. There’s a certain point in this record where every song begins to sound the same, and the band acts quick to dismiss that. “Miss Youniverse,” which lingers somewhere in the realm of funkadelic synth, quickly takes hold of the originality reigns again.
The more you listen, the more Like New feels like a fever dream of sorts. When you expect one thing, you get another, occasionally flailing to find your footing. It’s reminiscent of the adulthood anxiety that Staffen and Callahan are experiencing themselves, as they muster on through the music business and their own lives.
“We wrote the songs that make up this album at the outset of a transitional and particularly uncertain moment in our lives,” the duo states in a recent press release. “That early twenties tide change. New patterns took hold as we tried to hang onto old ones.”
Uncertainty manifests on “Hard to Realize,” where the vocals sound both close and faraway. “Cherries” is more akin to a childhood secret whispered from the safety of a schoolyard, the wallowy vocals of “Avenue Bliss” as personal as a quiet phone call. “Bad Advice,” the song that’s changed the most from its original 2018 release, proves much richer in sound and intricate musings. Staffen and Callahan comment that it “looks so nice to be alive” in the world once the track reaches its climax; a more truthful statement nowadays. The duo’s harmonies intertwine in a way that highlights their quiet comradery as a partnership too. Through these songs, we see that the two of them, as long as they have each other, are going to be just fine.
Like New is a whirlpool of whimsy, and one you need to indulge in immediately. Purr have staked their claim in the NYC alt scene with a debut that feels far beyond their years. It’s observant and alluring, sure to have you sucked into the musical headspace the band has established for themselves. I found myself falling down a rabbit hole of my own, entrapped in the music that made me fall in love with the duo in the first place. Like New has joined my ranks of records that exceed any amount of waiting time. Jack and Eliza may be history, but their ghosts still linger among these lyrical love letters. I wholeheartedly hope that they aren’t going to be leaving anytime soon.