When I first opened up the debut cassette from Wavepool Abortion, there were a few signifiers that this would suck beyond belief. It was the name that made me cringe most, but as the duo of Pyotr Reznikov and Matvei Solovyov make their home in Moscow, it could be chalked up to a broken translation. Then there’s the five-minute Photoshop slapdash of the artwork, but there was also a thrift-store sunken treasure quality to the tape. Finally, the manner in which the band described itself (“like maybe the Ramones and the Beatles taking a big shit”) was a bit green and unappealing. But somehow, some way, I was charmed enough to finally give it a listen, despite the whole thing giving off bad vibes.

Well, it may have taken a while to put it on, but these 17-year-olds’ hooks instantly took hold. I was smiling the entire time this played. Of course, these guys can’t be blamed for their dirt-pop influences, which recall the recent trappings of lo-fi and could easily be mistaken for Wavves if they aren’t careful. There are bubblegum harmonies hiding under intentional crud and fuzz, as well as big, wah-wah guitar swoons that bring the Smith Westerns and Girls to mind. The more punk numbers here either rely on drum machines or propulsion similar to No Age. It would be curmudgeonly to fault the duo for having such influences. After all, were they high school students in America, we would likely praise them for digging deeper than most. Either way, Wavepool Abortion may be begat from bands that have only surfaced in the last few years, but they have also managed to quickly transcend mere imitation. This debut is rudimentary—much like that of Texas counterparts Fungi Girls—and that is key to why this album is so frivolously infectious and a complete blast. The cassette is likely born of a four-track, as the low-brow pop of “Real Blood” and “Go Away” skid by in a homogenous cloud of hiss. Still, Wavepool Abortion know texture and how to use bedroom tricks to their advantage. Chalk it up to dumb luck or purposeful sonic ingenuity (I believe it’s the latter), this tape is filled with blink-and-miss-it odds and ends. Cell phone interference, in-studio random chatter, or just the way a drumstick sounds upon a piece of sheet metal—these tiny idiosyncrasies belie their age and experience. The best indication that Wavepool Abortion is not just a byproduct of lo-fi spreading on a global scale are the slower, more melodious moments like “Get Me Down” and the fitting instrumental finale of “Snuggle and Die,” which strike a balance against the usual blitz here. As this is a cassette limited to 100 copies, there seems to be no rush to spread the word just yet. That said, there’s enough endearing chutzpah here to wish for a name change, some vinyl in the future, and a trip to America to verify they are the real deal.
Kevin J. Elliott