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**Walk The Moon – Walk The Moon**
★★★★☆

In the grand tradition of bands naming their debut album after themselves, Walk The Moon's 2012 self-titled effort arrives with the confidence of a group that's already figured out exactly who they are. This is synth-pop with stadium-sized ambitions, wrapped in day-glo colours and delivered with the kind of earnest enthusiasm that could power a small city.

The Cincinnati quartet had been kicking around the indie circuit since 2008, initially as a more experimental outfit before settling into their current incarnation as purveyors of unabashedly uplifting electro-rock. Their early EPs and relentless touring had already established them as a live force to be reckoned with, but this major-label debut represents their first proper shot at translating that kinetic energy into recorded form. The result is an album that sounds like it was engineered in a laboratory specifically designed to manufacture good times.

Musically, Walk The Moon occupy that sweet spot between indie rock credibility and mainstream accessibility that bands like Foster The People and Passion Pit have mined so successfully. Their sound is built on a foundation of vintage synthesizers, propulsive rhythms, and Nicholas Petricca's falsetto vocals, which soar and swoop with the kind of melodic sensibility that recalls early Talking Heads filtered through decades of new wave evolution. There's a deliberate retro-futurism at work here – this is how the 1980s might have sounded if they'd been invented by optimistic millennials rather than cocaine-addled Wall Street traders.

The album opens with "Quesadilla," a swirling, atmospheric piece that serves as an effective scene-setter before exploding into "Lisa Baby," where the band's true colours are revealed in all their neon glory. It's here that Walk The Moon's gift for crafting irresistible hooks becomes apparent – this is pop music in the most unapologetic sense, designed to burrow into your brain and set up permanent residence.

But it's "Anna Sun" that represents the album's true masterstroke. Built around a simple but devastating synth riff and propelled by Petricca's declaration that he's "gonna live where the green grass grows," the song captures something essential about the restless optimism of young adulthood. It's the sound of escape velocity, of breaking free from small-town limitations and hurtling toward something bigger and brighter. The track's success as a radio staple was no accident – this is precision-tooled anthem construction of the highest order.

"Tightrope" maintains the momentum with its urgent, driving rhythm and lyrics about taking chances, while "Shiver Shiver" showcases the band's ability to dial down the energy without losing their essential spark. The album's secret weapon might be "I Can Lift A Car," which combines their trademark exuberance with a surprisingly sophisticated arrangement that builds from whispered verses to a euphoric chorus that lives up to its superhuman title.

The production, courtesy of Ben Allen (who's worked with Animal Collective and Gnarls Barkley), strikes an ideal balance between polish and grit. The synthesizers gleam without sounding sterile, while the rhythm section maintains the kind of human feel that keeps the songs from floating away into pure digital abstraction. There's space in the mix for each element to breathe, creating a sonic landscape that's both immediate and detailed enough to reward repeated listening.

Where the album occasionally stumbles is in its relentless commitment to positivity. While there's something genuinely refreshing about a band that seems constitutionally incapable of cynicism, the unvarying emotional temperature can feel overwhelming in large doses. This is music for perpetual summer, which makes it slightly less effective when the seasons change.

A decade on, Walk The Moon's debut stands as a near-perfect distillation of early-2010s indie-pop ambitions. While their subsequent hit "Shut Up and Dance" would eclipse anything here in terms of commercial success, this album captures the band at their most cohesive and inspired. It's a record that understands the transformative power of a great pop song – the way the right combination of melody, rhythm, and sentiment can make you feel like you could actually lift a car, or at least dance like nobody's watching. In an era increasingly defined by ironic detachment and calculated authenticity, Walk The Moon's wholehearted embrace of joy feels almost radical.