The Donnybrook Writing Academy

Most Likely To: make one feel kind of (but not very) dirty for listening.

The xx are aptly named – while their music definitely conjures up a late night in the boudoir vibe, it stops one x short of being truly dirty. There’s more foreplay than fornication going on here.

Much has been made of The xx’s debt to R & B, but to be perfectly honest there’s not a single soul in the press corps who would make note of it were it not prominently called out in the band’s press kit or by the fact that the U.K. pressing of the London band’s debut contains an Aaliyah cover. No one is going to listen to The xx and mutter to themselves “Say now! These youngsters have been listening to their Boyz II Men!” without a little bit of coaching to come to that conclusion. The R & B influence is present, but it’s about as obvious as The Velvet Underground’s debt to country & western – it’s in there somewhere, but it’s not the first thing anyone is going to comment on.

No, the more obvious influences are the angular post-punk of bands like The Au Pairs and The Passions, combined with the spartan simplicity of Young Marble Giants and just the teensiest pinch of Bunnymen guitars. The xx combine these elements with an atmosphere of midnight furtiveness and end up conjuring the feeling of trying to shag one’s girlfriend while her parents stubbornly stay up to watch Letterman in the next room. It’s sexy, but more “we have to be quiet or we’re going to get caught” sexy than “oh baby baby BABY!” sexy.

The band’s songs are simply constructed but not simple minded. The spare interplay of guitar, bass, and drum machine on songs like “VCR” and “Infinity” weave a suitably mesmerizing spell, while co-vocalists Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim trade gender-equal verses of subdued vocals. I’ve no clue whether or not the two 20 year olds share any relationship in the real world beyond being bandmates, but in song they sound like they might like to inspect each other’s instruments but aren’t going to make a big scene about it. There’s enough chemistry between the two singers that even though they both sing with a certain hushed reticence, one sometimes feels oneself blushing while listening to them. (Now watch, they’ll turn out to be cousins or something and make me feel like a pervert for thinking such things.)

Most of The xx’s tunes follow the same basic template – none of them scream out for attention, but most repay any attention paid to them. The relatively upbeat chorus of “Islands” is the place where that ballyhooed R & B influence most notably raises its head, as Croft and Sim’s voices intertwine in a way that approaches rousing. “Heart Skipped a Beat” is about as slinky as minimalism can get, sounding like the aforementioned Young Marble Giants attempting to get funky without ever actually having heard funk. Croft is a distinctive guitarist, adding just the right seasoning to the songs as she weaves supple guitar lines around the edges that sound like Will Sergeant of the Bunnymen watching Sergio Leone films at 2 a.m.

The xx have made one of the intriguing debuts of 2009 – smart, sexy, and slightly mysterious. The secretive mood that runs through the entire album contributes greatly to its striking atmosphere, but could hamper the band in the future if they continue in the same vein. But for now the youngsters have made an album to be proud of, even if it sometimes feels like something they should probably hide from their parents.