Brenden Ramirez is a power pop quick study. After playing in all manner of rock bands growing up, Ramirez studied jazz guitar at Willamette University, a pursuit that took him as far as Nepal, where he briefly taught at the Kathmandu Jazz Conservatory. His music degree had a focus on improvisation: the antithesis of power pop, a style that seeks to replicate the anarchic impact of the ’64 Beatles under strict lab conditions. But there are times on Who’s a Good Boy, Ramirez’s debut full-length as Bory, when he slips into power pop suddenly yet naturally, like a childhood friend appearing in a dream.
Some of that familiarity can be chalked up to Ramirez’s post-grad employment. Soon after moving to Portland in 2018, he joined the backing band of local power pop omnivore Mo Troper, who produced and played on Who’s a Good Boy. “I don’t think I even knew what power pop was until I met Mo,” Ramirez admitted to Willamette Week earlier this month, “which I think is a common occurrence for people who meet Mo.” That experience is evident from gems like the lead single “We Both Won,” a jangling post-breakup anthem that beams its arpeggiation like a forced smile. “North Douglas” is a plea to visit a partner’s childhood home, outfitted with dual guitars. The chorus peals like church bells, melodies and countermelodies folding into each other.
Just like another Troper-produced power pop record released this year, Diners’ Domino (to which Ramirez contributed additional guitar), there’s a naturalism to the lyrics that contrasts with the almost formalist arrangements. But where Domino felt like an internal monologue, Who’s a Good Boy has a second-person intimacy. Some tracks seem to open in the middle of an argument: “Don’t take this the wrong way.” “I’m sorry for being weird.” But Ramirez’s breathy tenor defuses tension. “To find the words in my head/It takes a while,” he confesses on the opening track, the dream-pop apologia “The Flake.” The desire to connect is palpable. His guitar yowls in parallel motion with his refrain; the production is so saturated, it laps at the speakers.
Despite the measured chime and judicious use of handclaps, this is at heart a prototypical PNW indie-pop effort. Warm but guarded, intricate and muted, reminiscent of the Shins and David Bazan and especially Elliott Smith. The blown-out instrumental break on “Five-Course Meal” is Smith through and through: the choirboy coos, peaking guitars and Mellotron wash could have appeared on anything after XO. There’s a jolt whenever you spot a familiar chord change, or recognize the melodic contour of a closing word. It feels less like homage and more like Bory’s vocabulary.
