Album review: Kindred — Passion Pit

Kindred by Passion Pit.

Passion Pit

Kindred (Columbia)

Three stars

From Beyoncé's Crazy in Love to the Insane Clown Posse, mental-­illness references are often bandied about in popular-music parlance, yet the tricksy taboo is rarely broken in particularly educated or sympathetic terms.

American “indietronica” act Passion Pit are an unapologetic exception to that rule — the band’s chief architect, Michael Angelakos, has openly discussed his own battles with bipolar disorder and enthusiastically supports mental-health charities.

Far from catalysing a downcast listening experience, however, the two Passion Pit albums to date have been sonically characterised by a heady elation.

Manners was arguably 2009's best breakout record, powered by the cult single Sleepyhead. Gossamer, which followed three years later, propelled Passion Pit into the top 10 of the US Billboard charts and onto arena stages in their native country.

That newfound fame came at a price, with Angelakos cancelling tour dates at about the time of Gossamer to tackle his continuing problems. Gladly, on Kindred, he appears to be in a good place once again.

Continuing to mine a distinctly intimate seam — first seen on Passion Pit's debut EP, which was recorded as a present to the frontman's then girlfriend — Kindred peaks early with its first single, Lifted Up (1985). Full of stomping keyboards and kitschy reference points, its chorus showcases Angelakos's ear for a melody that you'll catch yourself humming at inopportune moments several days later, declaring that "1985 was a good year".

On initial spins, nothing else quite matches that impact, but Kindred ultimately proves to be something of a slow burner. Several of the subsequent highlights also harbour darker moments, often hidden among an outwardly carefree jangle.

Dancing on the Grave is as close as Angelakos has thus far come to a full-on ballad, with vulnerable lines aplenty (particularly his recurring realisations that "I can't stay here").

My Brother Taught Me How to Swim, by comparison, retains Passion Pit's signature sound, underpinned by talk of childhood exploits that could equally be read as a metaphor for Angelakos's personal struggles.

The singer’s helium-kissed intonations have had a tendency to skirt sickly-sweet territory over the course of an entire album, although at a concise 37 minutes, there’s scarcely time to get nauseous over anything here.

And while Kindred doesn't deliver the exhilarating indie-rock head-rush that first announced Passion Pit to the world, if it's the sound of a man coming to peace with himself, then it would seem cruel to find too much fault.