Lincolnwood Tech by Mathlete: A Lo-Fi Time Capsule That Feels Like Home
Let’s get one thing straight—Lincolnwood Tech isn’t your typical shiny, polished album. Released in 2000 under Blackbean And Placenta Tape Club (yes, that’s a real label), this gem from Mathlete is an eclectic mashup of Pop, Rock, Synth Pop, and Indie vibes with just enough Lo-Fi grit to make it feel like you’re listening through the cracks of someone’s old Walkman. It’s messy but intentional, raw yet cleverly crafted. And honestly? That’s what makes it stick.
The masterminds behind this project are Dan Marsden and Mike Downey, who sound less like performers and more like two dudes messing around in their garage after too much coffee. But don’t let that fool you—they’ve got chops. Tracks like “Year 1985” and “You Say I’m a Wreck” have burrowed themselves into my brain like earworms at a sleepover.
Take “Year 1985,” for example. This track feels like stepping into a time machine built out of nostalgia and duct tape. The synths buzz lazily, like they can’t quite decide if they want to be futuristic or retro—and honestly, neither can I when I listen to it. There’s something about the way the melody loops back on itself, almost hypnotic, like watching static on an old TV late at night. It reminds me of those moments where you sit staring at nothing, letting your mind wander off into weird little daydreams. Is it profound? Not really. Does it slap? Absolutely.
Then there’s “You Say I’m a Wreck.” If ever there was a song title that perfectly summed up how most of us feel on any given Tuesday, this would be it. The lyrics bounce between self-deprecating humor and existential shrugs, all wrapped up in punchy guitar riffs and lo-fi production that sounds like it might fall apart at any second. Yet somehow, it holds together beautifully. Listening to it feels like having a heart-to-heart with a friend over cheap beer—they’re not trying to fix you; they’re just nodding along while you vent about life’s nonsense.
What strikes me most about Lincolnwood Tech is its charm. It doesn’t try too hard to impress anyone. Instead, it embraces imperfections, like scuffed sneakers or mismatched socks. Tracks repeat here and there (“Bought An Engine,” anyone?), and some transitions feel as smooth as sandpaper. But these quirks only add character. They remind you that music doesn’t always need to be perfect—it just needs to resonate.
In a world obsessed with streaming playlists and algorithm-curated perfection, Lincolnwood Tech feels refreshingly human. It’s the kind of album you stumble upon by accident, only to realize it’s exactly what you didn’t know you needed.
And hey, maybe that’s why it stuck with me. Or maybe it’s because I once owned a pair of headphones that sounded suspiciously like the mastering on “Tape Machines and Tambourines.” Either way, give this one a spin if you’re tired of music that takes itself too seriously. Just don’t blame me if you start humming “Rocket Patrol” during your next Zoom meeting.
