I recently discussed with a coworker how the ’80s left a distinct pop culture resonance. It was the last “cool” decade to grow up in. Coming out of the first decade of the century, the naughts were so rapidly changing that you can’t really say a lasting impression was left other than they were rapidly changing. And while the ’90s gave us grunge music, it also gave us grunge fashion, which is something that we are probably better without. But the ’80s gave us John Hughes films, bright colored leggings, shell top Adidas, and the flux capacitor. As much as we look back and laugh at the hairdos, we can’t deny that decade left an everlasting impression defining the time. It was the age of a new wave — the time where guitars meet synthesizers and became a match made in heaven. Taking the pop culture significance of the decade into consideration, there is no wonder why so many indie bands today sound like they are trying to relive that era.

Wild Nothing’s Gemini picks up where The Pains of Being Pure at Heart left off last year with their full-length debut. Both albums are throwbacks to the original post-punk/new wave movement. Yet Wild Nothing is a little more subdued and quieter in its approach. Where The Pains expressed youthful angst, Wild Nothing embodies adult discontent. If the tone of The Pains were The Cure’s Head on the Door, then this album is Disintegration.

Wild Nothing on record is the one-man stylings of Virginian Jack Tatum, who is able to craft the layers of each track to a lush mix of synth, vocal, and guitar. The album fades in with “Live In Dreams,” a basic tone setter establishing the pace for much of the ride. Tatum’s vocals are just a half octave above monotone and almost emotionless — normally a sure strike — but it works for him just as it is an asset for Beach House’s Victoria Legrand. The mid-tempo beat itself boarders hallway between danceable and a wallflower’s sway.

Elsewhere on Gemini, Tatum’s knack for layering sound is more proficiently displayed. “Pessimist” is two minutes of pure dream pop perfection. From the droning melody to the echoed vocals, it’s one of the most hypnotic tracks I’ve heard all year. “Boys don’t cry, they just want to die,” Tatum drones over a steady jingle of bells and a reverberating synth loop. “The Witching Hour” is everything you can ask for in post-punk. It’s up-tempo enough to not be depressing, but doesn’t get to the point at which the self-reflective/self-misery lyrics become lost or banal.

The downside of Gemini is that following “The Witching Hour,” the album seems a bit repetitive. These lackluster closing tracks emphasize the album’s inability to break free from the imitation Cure standard. The mood rarely changes and, by the closing song, interest wanes. There’s nothing excruciating or even unbearable here, but it is evident that Tatum settled into a corner and did very little to venture out of his comfort zone. However his craftwork within such limited territory is enough to make this a worthwhile venture.