"It's a cool medium, and it sounds so good," Falconetti insists of vinyl's lasting spell. "It's a cool package. You've got this big chunky thing in your hand -- this cool seven-inch -- and with CDs you don't get that."
"There's more substance," Van Leuven says.
"You guys read that in a magazine," Almond counters. "Don't make the argument that it sounds better, that the packaging is better. Frankly, it's that you two have a certain nostalgia about it, and you think it's cool that it's different than everything else."
"I'd rather have an album cover than a CD cover to look at," Van Leuven says.
Either way, the band is in agreement about the merits of DIY over letting a bigger, corporate entity handle matters of content or packaging. "Even if you get signed to Sony, everything will get done for you, but they'll charge you for it and probably drop you after an album," Almond says. "If you pay for the recording yourself, you won't have to worry about the record label coming in and interfering."
With a new set of discs (as yet untitled, but with 500 copies on order -- the same number as Rocket Club), the Breezies look to once again secure distribution beyond their hometown and hopefully break into markets such as Japan -- a country whose music fans seem to appreciate the retro aesthetic. And in an age when many bands use computer software programs to put that warm, nostalgic, brushfire-sounding scratch and pop back into their digital releases, it's refreshing to see a band make vinyl its modus operandi -- even if it sometimes seems about as practical as releasing '78s or Marconi-era wax-covered cylinders.
All the same, the Breezy Porticos continue running through the sprinklers of sweetness and light. They stubbornly summon sounds of innocence lost, conjuring the bygone days of a Kenner Close-n-Play. It's sunny again, kiddies. Put down the stupid PlayStation and back away slowly. Go outside. Make yourselves useful. Chase an ice cream truck or something.