A Black-and-White Melodrama of Music

Nick & June’s music may be simple in nature, but not simple to the point where it’s mediocre. Instead of bearing that classification, their latest collection of tracks, which is in the form of an album entitled Beach Baby, Baby, is endearing and awe-inspiring. Deep with the motifs it addresses, it’s sure to keep listeners both engaged and transfixed. 

“Bonjour Tristesse (Intro)” kicks off the album, and it’s laden with the sounds of a gentle piano. Here, the artists’ soft singing blends into a bit of whispering to create a relaxing effect. It also seems to be a meditation on something — or, even more compelling and intriguing, someone. That just might be the thing about the opening of this album: it entices its unseen audience by simultaneously exciting and convoluting their collective feelings of justified suspicion and wariness. 

Nevertheless, the woman pictured on the album’s cover appears as a Marilyn Monroe lookalike wearily setting down an old-fashioned rotary-dial telephone, which in turn evokes the mood of 1950s Hollywood. There’s a black-and-white aesthetic present that conjures the assistance of the music gods, fully helping Nick & June to guide the aims of their intentions in the right direction.

 The lyrics making up “Anything but Time” center themselves on this desperate yearning for more time, a constantly escaping thing that plagues all. Because this track is included, Nick & June ground themselves and their work in realism, as they do not stray too far from the limitations of this reality. By the end of it, and also with the triple repetition of “I need time” in succession, this song establishes itself as one that should arouse childlike astonishment in the ears of listeners, as well as that adult-ish cry for the opportunity to simply just have more of something. 

Two of the tracks here, “Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “Lip Sync to Love Songs,” both deal with themes of love. In regard to the latter, it’s probably the most conditioned for some handsome playing time on a radio station solely meant for pop music, since it has the typical lyrics of a catchy tune, and possesses instrumentation that shies away from floundering. Writing to the former, that one belongs to a group of vampires waiting in their chambers for the night to come on, with a soft-sounding guitar that does more than merely serving the role of being another instrument added on to the track. All of it is intentional and intricate, and that really becomes apparent with the inclusion of these tracks. 

Its title using the name of a common trope found in all kinds of movies, “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” comes to life by means of the vivid poetry it contains. This one maintains a harmonious overlap between its two singers, and reverses what’s characteristic of a song that delights in accessing sad, melancholy, hopeless elements by choosing not to dwell in darkness, but light instead — it also utilizes drums that are smooth and steady, making them a useful asset of the track. 

While “Starman,” the closer of the album, may perform somewhat of a disservice to David Bowie’s original, it could also be seen as a pleasant tribute. The keyboards and synthesizers change things up, preventing the track from becoming an obnoxious acoustic cover. Perhaps they indeed want it to sound as if it is the rendition of a mother to five, with June’s motherly tone present in her vocals. 

Beach Baby, Baby is nothing that’s already existing. It takes on its own form, and in the process becomes something meaningful and worthwhile. After the time that has passed since this one’s release, the stars of the sky now denote the heights to which Nick & June can travel with any music they make from this point forth.