In this day and age, there are countless indie bands cashing in on the tired old sounds of sunny California surf-pop. These bands believe that replicating the Beach Boys and Tornadoes is the only way to evoke the surf-and-sand atmosphere of the Pacific coast. When the Los Angeles-based duo Big Sir released their eponymous debut in 2000, they didn’t take that route. Instead, Big Sir is one of those records that summons the laid-back, cruising-underneath-rows-of-palm-trees side of California. It’s a day in the mountains rather than a day at the beach—more Northern California than SoCal. The basslines crawl and roll, the drums pitter-patter, and guitars are secondary if not completely absent. On Big Sir, it’s all about the rhythm section and singer Lisa Papineau’s haunting, vulnerable vocals. Surprisingly, even without guitar-driven pop songs, the album sounds like California while remaining novel and emotional, something many Beach Boys plagiarists never approach.

Avoiding the traditional guitar-centric surf rock template, Big Sir based their debut on down-tempo hip-hop, centering on the sound of a smooth fretless bass, compliments of Juan Alderete (Racer X, Mars Volta). Alderete’s fingers glide across the fretless effortlessly, demonstrating his virtuosity. Songs like “Sad Elephant” and “Fuzak” stroll alongside Alderete’s bass with the help of fuzzed-out drum machines. Guitar floats in occasionally, like during upbeat track “The Pistol Chasers,” or the stricken-with-wanderlust “Lisa’s Theme,” but it’s always tremendously understated. “Understated” doesn’t necessarily mean “weak,” though—“Lisa’s Theme” features simple picking on a down-tuned guitar, somehow putting you in a weepy, daydreamy headspace. Everything about the song conveys the same emotions and sensations that you would experience if you lived inside of that gorgeous album cover.

“Don’t ask this lone man / for his short story / he will ‘once upon a time’ / without warning,” Papineau mutters on “Sad Elephant.” Lyrically, Big Sir is both sensual without being too sexual and smart without being condescending. The lyrics are aided by Papineau’s sultry vocals that seldom rise above a fragile whisper except on the fast-paced track “The Pistol Chasers,” where she channels her rough-edged shouting days with ‘90s alt-rock group Pet. When her voice finally finds that shaky middle ground between whispering and shouting, she punches you in the gut. In “G7,” she sings, “I’m saying goodbye now / he said it first.” Her words sound barren and wintry, but the bassline and waltzy chord progression bathe her in warm hues of orange and yellow, painting an image of a woman standing on the beach, weeping over a love gone awry. Clearly, this isn’t fleeting summer love we’re dealing with on Big Sir—it’s something deeper and more visceral. The juxtaposition of solemnity against west coast superficiality isn’t something music listeners are accustomed to hearing. Then again, that’s part of what makes the album such a unique listen.

Endearing oddities pepper the album throughout the listening experience, such as the intro which features a slow-moving MC only identified as “Speedy,” briefly reminiscing about the good old days over an ambling loop, leading us to realize the irony of his moniker. Later before the album’s finale, there is a short, bizarre mash-up of people exclaiming, “It’s all good!” Those segments might lend credence to the album’s hip-hop credibility, but since it’s also a little bit punk, a tiny bit surfer rock, a serving of jazz, and a healthy dose of trip-hop, the clips simply add to the album’s genrelessness. It’s one of the most genuine and inspiring west coast albums ever created, unfortunately only known by a handful of people. Even though it’s been around for ten years, it still sounds fresh, and it definitely beats those Beach Boys copycats currently holding down the modern-day indie scene. Do yourself a favor and just let Big Sir wash over you.

by Arika