Gateway to Dream Pop
Written by Nathan Evans
Artwork Design by Becky McGillivray
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Dream pop sits beside shoegaze and noise pop as a genre whose songs are constantly, never-endingly described as “ethereal”, with admittedly good reason. This style of music is focused on opening up pop progressions and melodies to vast amounts of space, then filling every square inch with cryptic instrumentation and imagery. So rich is their immersion, they form areas that narcotically displace themselves from reality itself, transcending into an idyllic para-reality where pop music acts as a form of drastic escapism.
Between works like the Velvet Underground’s ‘Candy Says’, the Beach Boys’ Sunflower and the wall-of-sound concept that Phil Spector pioneered, these ideas were set in place as far back as the psychedelic era. Further on into the century, the 80s was where dream pop emerged as its own recognised genre, with early releases from Lori & The Chameleons, Dif Juz and the Durutti Column. Today, its influence on pop culture is profound, if not immediately obvious - from entire spin-off genres like chillwave and ambient pop, to the boom of spaced-out indie pop band The xx, who injected that familiar glistening atmosphere into 21st century pop music. With the meaning of the term being redefined with every new generation of followers, here is a textual gateway to dream pop, through its most important releases. In addition, for each recommendation, a secondary album will be at the bottom of each section if you like what you hear. All albums are in a Spotify playlist linked at the end of the piece.
Cocteau Twins - Heaven or Las Vegas (1990)
Excuse the 1990 launch year as a bit of a fallacy, because this album operates as the defining document of dream pop’s classic 80s sound. Cocteau Twins are the first, biting breath of dream pop one should encounter on their expedition, and Heaven Or Las Vegas is the band’s Everest. Coated in a wintery glaze, the record is one of the most accessible in its genre, because masked under the muggy, twilight sound is a series of incredibly catchy songs that could go toe-to-toe with any chart hit. And that’s in spite of its glossolalic vocals - the band is known for frontwoman Elizabeth Fraser’s omittance of lyrics, an early trait that permitted listeners to just swim through the haze of sound. Take how the gossamer guitar and bass ricochet off one another on ‘Wolf In the Breast”, one of the many textural pleasures that contribute to a cloud of mystique that surrounds the record, keeping it forever fascinating.
Conceived in a period of transition out of the neon decade, the album swirls with a new-wave twinge, like the twangy guitars on ‘I Wear Your Ring’, or the celestial synthesizers towards the back end of ‘Fotzepolitic’. All the while, walls of shimmering guitars are pierced through by Liz Fraser’s heavenly falsetto. Though sheepish, it circuits around the hopeful pulsation of songs like ‘Iceblind Luck’ and the title track, plus many dream pop bands down the line would still be fronted with similarly esoteric female vocals, becoming one of the style’s hallmarks. Heaven or Las Vegas is a project that shows the band’s laser eye for crafting auditory bliss, enveloping melodies so profound that they transcend language altogether.
If you like, try: Julee Cruse - Floating in the Night
Lush - Split (1994)
Lush’s finest record was released smack-bang in the middle of the 90s, and it shows in how new elements have since been plastered over dream pop’s ever-changing formula. Adopting grunge’s angst, shoegaze’s distortion and Britpop’s immediacy, it was far more reflective of the decade it was initiated in compared to Heaven or Las Vegas, so much so that it arguably borders on straight shoegaze. However, almost every outlet that mentions this record generally cordoned it off as “shoegaze with far less aggression”, essentially a tautology of “dream pop with some bite in it”. Moments like ‘Kiss Chase’ are certainly a darker pocket to wallow in, and ‘Invisible Man’ grows into a rager whose guitars pop off the skin like hot grease.
On these tracks and more, Lush showed how malleable their genre could be, adding in extra teeth without negating that crucially viscous atmosphere. But at other points, they simply refresh the old sound, like where the woozy, circling guitar line on ‘Lovelife’ is submerged in wavey effects and ripple off a steady set of padded drums that are pulled straight from that Cocteau playbook. Plus, it would be irresponsible to skimp on the 7-minute lead single ‘Desire Lines’, a slothful cut that straddles the delicate (and potentially kinky) line between sensuality and melancholia, with intertwining guitars that congeal into one hive sound. Vocals hang low in the mix to be a part of the conglomorate, which is one of the main reason as to how Lush continue to adhere to dream pop’s broad appeal - as pop music that leaves no room for sparsity, forming a pool that one can sink themselves into and bathe in. Paradoxically leaving no gap unfilled, but leaving room to go to other places.
If you like, try: Galaxie 500 - On Fire
M83 - Saturdays = Youth (2008)
As the internet became the hub for alternative music of assorted flavours, a key part of its culture was the people’s longing for music that mimicked a bygone era. As the 20-year rule dictates, the 2000s was demanding more of the synth-pop that came from the same decade dream pop was born in. Enter M83, a prime example of the style growing to bend to the sound of the burgeoning indie scene that traded on delivering grab-bag feelings of nostalgia. After a piano-led curtain lifter, the opening triptych of Saturdays = Youth swoon with enchanting vibrancy and whispered vocals that sing gorgeously heart-wrenching melodies. ‘Kim & Jessie’, a throwback summer hit with a heavy heart, was just what the youth were after lyrically, but aesthetically, band leader Anthony Gonzalez was consciously going back to those new wave tendencies that defined the 80s, the music of his childhood. As his coevals were entering young adulthood and doing the exact same thing, this further connects with what was culturally desired in the aughts.
That new wave influence peeks through the boxy hits of electronic drum pad through the mist of ‘Skin of the Night’, or the jangly expanse of ‘Highway of Endless Dreams’. That latter track is notable for its unresolved build - after reaching so high, it fades out with intention, as its optimism shatters with the oncoming track “Too Late”, signaller to the dark finale of the record. This latter portion reveals a hidden commonality dream pop has with post-rock. The slow mesmerising timbres seen in bands like Sigur Rós are on full display here, and this stylistic switch-up reveals the record to be an audial accomplice for a character coming of age, the spark of his youth on the verge of fading, chiseling a visible line between the two. But look to stellar compositions like ‘Skin of the Night’ and ‘Graveyard Girl’. These dreamscapes are so full of life, it demonstrates how a genre that was once thought of as a less-invigorating offshoot of shoegaze can paint the perfect illustration to portray the rush of adolescence.
If you like, try: Chromatics - Kill For Love
Beach House - Teen Dream (2010)
Beach House’s 2010 crack-through is an excellent showpiece for modern dream pop, now shipping with thick drums that have mutated to cut through the oft-cascading vocals. Still, the band stay antecedent to those traditional characteristics in many ways. For one, the duo retain the same bewitching Liz Fraser-esque vocals (courtesy of Victoria Lagrand), this time with legible words that together, create a concept project dealing with intense teenage melancholy. One doesn’t need to peer into the lyrics to understand this, however. The feel of each track encaptures it all, from the first moments of opening cut “Zebra”, which grows botanically into an instrumentally-cohesive union of splashing cymbals, loping guitars and minor-keyed bass.
These themes hold much more weight thanks to being wet through with aura, though not by way of splendorous effects - very little of which touches this record to give it its airborne sound. Reverb specifically has become notorious for being used as a crutch to gaussian-blur over boring material, meanwhile Teen Dream achieved it all through a natural and liberal recording of their very particular arsenal of instrumentation. It’s enabled them to naturally mask their feelings in that same hallucinogenic cloud where their predecessors float, living in a mutual space for the band and listener to be honest and open in without getting uncomfortably intimate. Comfort is a sense regularly discovered in the best of dream pop’s encompassing library, and tracks like “Take Care” treat this literally. Following Langrand as her voice waltzes up and down the scale, it’s clear that her and Alex Scally have cracked the code of this generation, exemplified by the convergence of a decidedly analogue synth and lulling guitar phrase. Nostalgia, gloom and beauty, all rolled into one.
If you like, try: Beach House - Bloom
This Mortal Coil - It’ll End In Tears (1984)
This Mortal Coil’s first album is an exceptional and inceptional album for dream pop; it’s helpful sometimes to view a subculture from an early vantage point, what it was inspired by, what ingredients first went into the cauldron. It’ll End in Tears is noticeably pulling from the gothic side of dream pop, with a bulk of Cure worship appearing in the opening sermon (namely ‘Kangaroo’ and their impeccable cover of Tim Buckley’s ‘Song to the Siren’). Yet, the album manages to bring an incredible list of ideas and sounds into one magnificent place. Mapping out this record is like mapping out an urban metropolis, with a historical baroque town pinpointed by ‘Another Day’, a new-age enclave towards the rear end of the LP, distanced by foggy ambient and drone sections, and all linking back to the central gothic-pop district. It comes as no surprise that the collective influenced artists as diverse as Julee Cruise, Nine Inch Nails and Sigur Rós.
Sonically, This Mortal Coil sounds like they were dream pop’s first orchestra-sized band, but they only ever officially had two members. It was actually the studio project of 4AD records founder Ivo Watts-Russell and producer John Fryer, who invited guests from the label to contribute to multiple tracks at a time as they played director (similar to what Richard Russell is doing with his Everything is Recorded outfit today). Liz Fraser and the Cocteau Twins are featured, as well as synth-pop/dub hybrids Colourbox and darkwave provocateurs Dead Can Dance. Additionally, male singers were involved with the usual femme singers, along with androgenous vocals on cuts like ‘Fond Affections’, sung by transgender artist Cindy Sharp. There’s a ream of styles covered across these 12 songs, and it’s a unearthly rabbit hole that doesn’t hit until the transition from ‘Dreams Made Flesh’ into ‘Not Me’ - experiencing the iridescent Eastern detour of the former, snapping back into the initial monochrome darkwave that kicked off the album, is like waking up from a dream you weren’t fully aware of.
If you like, try: Cocteau Twins - Treasure
Mazzy Star - So Tonight That I Might See (1993)
American sonneteers Mazzy Star are perhaps the most recognisable name in dream pop. They certainly produced its biggest hit in the form of ‘Fade Into You’, a go-to track for Hollywood whenever they’ve needed to soundtrack the hope-is-lost low point in a concerning amount of films. Regardless, the band are noted for their folkier approach to dream pop, arguably breaking ground for acts like Beach House that are a little more vocal-driven. This is largely down to frontwoman Hope Sandoval being easily the strongest asset of the band, and she would have been for any other group at the time because of the attention-holding qualities. Her Mediterainian breeze of a voice knocks you into this incredible alpha state, where your ears perk up upon detection as your other systems shut down for a short while. Vowels echo for a lifetime, no doubt a nod to country music and heartland blues, an underlying chamber of their sound that beats throughout ‘Five String Serenade’ and ‘Blue Light’. Both are an elegy for the once-thriving Nashville sound that has been sodomised by Garth Brooks and Billy Ray Cyrus by this point, plus this influx of Americana extends to the mentioned single ‘Fade into You’ - without hesitation one of the greatest last-dance songs of all time. The way in which her voice shines atop the country-twanged guitar is like a lonely glitter ball hanging above an empty dance floor.
Do watch your step as you listen, as Mazzy Star have a fondness for surprise. Several darker moments bury this manic blues rock guitar buried underneath, fighting to escape. Tension disturbs Hope’s placid voice on ‘Mary of Silence’, which could be the dream pop edition of The Doors’ ‘Riders on the Storm’, in how it is haunted by some intangible spectral force. Nevertheless, these more misbehaving textures are still part of the experience, sort of like the rococo-like flairs in that purple-haze cover art.
If you like, try: Yo La Tengo - And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out
Broadcast - Tender Buttons (2005)
An odd pick saved for last - Broadcast’s 2005 songbook is a wildly leftfield take on dream pop, one that makes use of electronics more than any other artist before or since. At times pinching the eardrums with its low-res feedback, Tender Buttons can appear very standoffish and deliberately obtuse from the outside (it should be noted that it shares its title with an experimental book of cubist poetry). However, getting to know this LP will reveal a charming early-internet digiscape, the artwork itself basking in all of its webcam-quality glory. The merits of this album shine in its abstraction of conventional instrumentation, making it one of the most raw and bare dream pop LPs to still be considered part of the genre. In fact, it’s very much like a dream pop record deconstructed.
While this is the extreme example, traces of synthetic instruments in dream pop have increased over time, from the synth-wave in M83’s work to the drum machines seen on Beach House records. Electric dreams are still dreams, people. Instead of crescent moons and candle flames, leading lady Trish Keenan is backlit with flashing power indicator lights and sawtooth waves on analogue synthesizers. ‘Corporeal’ is a sombre piece of dream pop built with electro-static pulses, and many other tracks merge Keenan’s shadowy vocals with broken-SNES-cartridge buzzes (‘Black Cat’, ‘Michael a Grammar’). The underlying tenderness in Keenan’s rippling voice is obscured with bitcrushed electronics, yet she and co-producer James Cargill maintain that element of psychedelia, just in a more lateral way.
Beats are timid and mechanical, and that’s even if they can be bothered to show up, like on the fluttering ditty ‘Tears in the Typing Pool’. It leaves a stale air around the music that gives it this odd stillness, this paranormal tension that feels like a void affecting every aspect of the music; a void that was likely left after the departure of several band members in the transition from their previous record. It’s very anti-dream pop, a complete subversion of what the style means, but a common theme of the records in this list is not just its trippy immersion. Its artists are always evolving the genre’s definition, moving its boundaries and breaking its rules. In dream pop’s history so far, Broadcast is the biggest rule-breaker of them all. In an interview with Wire magazine, Keenan said that psychedelia is not “a world only reachable by hallucinogens, but obtainable by questioning what we think is real and right, by challenging the conventions of form and temper”.
If you like, try: Sweet Trip - You Will Never Know Why
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