The Lemon Twigs – ‘A Dream Is All We Know’ review: the D’Addarios reach for the stars

30 April, 2024

The Lemon Twigs

There can be a fine line between parody and pastiche. Just ask the Lemon Twigs, the brainchild of brothers Brian and Michael D’Addario, who hail from the improbably named Hicksville, USA and now reside in New York City. Back in 2016, when they released their vintage rock-inspired debut ‘Do Hollywood’ while still in adolescence, they wore their influences so proudly you’d think Beyond Retro had become sentient and copped a job-lot of ‘70s vinyl. The look was glam rock, the sound Todd Rundgren in his pomp. It wasn’t a joke, exactly, but the eccentricity of the routine was likely to raise a bemused chuckle. Were these guys for real?

In fact, ‘Do Hollywood’ was technically their second album, given that it followed ‘What We Know’, a cassette-only release limited to 100 copies – an important detail, as this is precisely the kind of musical pedantry the Lemon Twigs would pull you up on. The connoisseurs’ journey through their parents’ record collection took them to a darker place with last year’s ‘Everything Harmony’, which showcased a more mature and melancholic sound that suggested they’d now discovered Simon & Garfunkel. Its swift successor, though, is an altogether sunnier affair.

‘A Dream Is All We Know’, the siblings’ mostly self-produced fifth studio album, sees them revel in Beach Boys harmonies and off-kilter melodies (think the Beatles when they were starting to get weird). Somehow, they manage to act as if all this has never been done before – and herein lies much of their appeal. At 25 and 27 respectively, Michael and Brian continue to harness an endearing naivety that carries you past any accusations of unoriginality. “The album’s aiming for something timeless,” Michael recently told Mojo, and it’s impressive how often this record lives up to that ambition.

‘Golden Years’ sounds like the inside of Ray Davies’ head when inspiration blossomed circa 1968, while the Sean Ono-Lennon-co-produced ‘In the Eyes of the Girl’ could, if you squinted, be a lost cut from ‘Pet Sounds’. There’s even time to take a Chuck Berry riff for a brisk duck walk on ‘Rock On (Over and Over)’. Best of all, though, is the acoustic ‘I Should’ve Known Right From the Start’, which spirals out into a magical – and completely unique – smattering of twinkly percussion that summons the image of a constellation. As it points to a future way beyond their influences, you sense the lads will have the last laugh yet.