“Subdued ebullience” is maybe a bit of an oxymoron, but it’s the phrase I would use to best describe Green Light Cameras’ “Hurricane Fence.” A scintillating piece of slow pop pleasure, “Hurricane Fence” comes in at the pace of a ceremonial march, its tempo just suited to the buoyant descent of the bass arpeggios—the track is downright stately. Yeah—to the point that no amount of fuzzy synths, jerky keyboard rhythms, or a breathy drawl can take away the statement of purpose. If anything, these elements only add to what feels almost deceptively monumental.
If that weren’t enough, “Hurricane Fence” has a hell of an (understated) chorus progression, finally dipping down after the verse to give us a IV-V lift and one of the most well-placed C-Am drops I’ve heard in a long time because it serves two purposes: that minor vi keeps us from going over the top while reintroducing the progression of the verses, which lends a sense of place to the whole movement and that’s where I start thinking about location: I want to know where this hurricane fence is. I want to know who put up this hurricane fence and why. I want to know if the hurricane fence separates the singer and the object of his prose from one another or from something else altogether. Before I can figure out which is “the wrong side of the hurricane fence,” though, the music is overwhelmed by distortion and reverb, consuming itself and retreating to leave the same major second interval that introduced the song and I have to go back and listen again!