The Supersonics

What this Kolkata based outfit manages to do is dish out a contemporary record trenching small nuggets of yesteryears. Maby Baking lassoes the raucous drive of indie rock manifest in the likes of The Kooks and The Strokes, though sputtering the ethics of pioneers Weezer and Blur. The Supersonics use the synergy of power pop and punk rock to their advantage. Sonically the album doesn’t go down many dark alleys, chock-full as it is with buoyant riffing and lilting guitar lines which cushion sprightly refrains. Ananda Sen’s deep baritone delivered with an intended restraint, is a striking distinction, a vocal quality less heard on the Indian indie scene. Sen even goes as far as to push his baritone to Ian Curtis-like eerie depths on the verse of ”˜Major Minor,’ and it’s only on ”˜Blotter’ that his vocals soften and open up to a syrupy serenade. But Sen’s vocals do sound a tad affected ”“ we’ve heard this voice on a lot of international bands before ”“ and where he falls short is in his inability to project that pitch successfully. The well executed, fat bass-lines plaster the low-pitched vocals to the soundscape. Lyrically, the songs play hard ball on a soft court; sometimes they do tip over to the dark side but feel good carelessness is key. “The Earth’s getting warmer and you’re getting colder/My jeans don’t fit/Cause I’m getting older/What can I say”¦everything is as everything should be” goes the simplistic wit that champions punk ideals on ”˜Yeah Whatever.’ When it comes to songwriting, this one does not score high on originality, but these guys sure know how to whip up that firm batter and bake a mean cake, but the recipe is not exactly theirs to own.