Phantogram’s debut Eyelid Movies comes across as a shrine to things that sound great on headphones, full of crisp and spry drums, and breathtakingly lush synthesized textures. It could end up pretty awful, right? It could have been music to shop to or something of the sort, but the record treats this richness as reason enough to exist. In Phantogram’s soulful blend of pop, hip-hop and electronica, the duo closely recalls TV on the Radio, but by eschewing that band’s zeitgeist-humping seriousness, they produce something more direct and, dare I say it, sincere.

Because make no mistake: this is bright, cleanly produced indie-rock of the most teenage-notebook variety, subject to the same swooning, unabashed romanticism of A Sunny Day in Glasgow or Broken Social Scene. The only difference is that Phantogram tempers these moments of keening with not layers of synth lines or histrionic warbling but straight boom-bap. The two-punch percussion of “As Far As I Can See” is almost Primo-esque in its minimalism, and the downtempo swoon of “When I’m Small” recalls Moby at his least grating. Even when Phantogram aims more closely to indie rock, it’s likely to be layered on top like a sample, as on the ragdoll flail of “Bloody Palms,” based around a guitar line so infectious it sort of works as its own hook.

The result is 45 remarkably listenable minutes, packed tight into four-minute songs and flecked with just enough loneliness to offset the sweetness. Recorded by the duo in rural upstate New York, Eyelid Movies is intensely insular and as personal and, indeed, as ephemeral as the dreams hinted at in the album title. The record closes with a sustained patter of polite applause, which is an appropriate enough conclusion for the preceding album–for better and for worse. The listener, deep in a headphone reverie, applauds politely along. But one is left hoping that on future efforts the duo aims to make that phantom audience stand and riotously demand for more.

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