When the groundwork for the country's do-it-yourself network was laid in the '80s, geography played a bigger role than it does now. Tape-trading and zines connected the dots between cities a lot more slowly than the internet. Since the cyber age has helped erase the starkest geographic-based distinctions between independent music scenes, the term “indie rock” nowadays refers more to a convoluted subset of styles than a particular business model.

Obviously, those DIY dots took a bit longer to connect to Alaska, but an independent band from Anchorage doesn't sound inherently different from one in Brooklyn; there are just fewer of them.

But some of that original DIY ethos still exists in Anchorage—perhaps the product of necessity. “It's hard to get any sort of label attention up here, even with an extensive resume like ours,” says singer and guitarist Sean Howland of his band the Hoons. Howland started the band soon after relocating to Anchorage from Portland, but the group's lineup didn't solidify until two years ago. Even without label support, the Hoons landed a handful of dates on the Warped Tour courtesy a battle-of-the-bands competition. As one of the city's go-to opening acts for national acts making Alaskan visits, the band has shared the stage with the likes of MxPx, Poison the Well and Every Time I Die, a distinction that eventually garnered spotlighting from Alternative Press as an unsigned band to watch. But all that momentum is tough to maintain.

“We don't have a lot of money, so basically we saved 'til we had enough to do two or three songs and went in [to the studio] every couple months,” explains Howland. Ultimately the four-piece scraped enough over the course of a year for their nine-song full length Iocane—an album that, while technically the second in their discography, serves as something of a fresh start for the Hoons. On the subject of their previous recorded output: “We don't like to talk about that particular slab of dogshit.”

So, as an attempt to set the record straight, Iocane bursts out of the gate with what the kids nowadays call “swagger.” The loping rhythm of “The Professional” serves as the foundation for the dual-guitar leads that prove to be the Hoons' strongest weapon. The intro's call-and-response guitars turn point-counterpoint across the stereo while Howland's vocal delivery oozes with confidence.

The sounds on Iocane largely fit the '90s mold of indie rock, with arpeggios and fractured angularity demonstrating a devotion to quiet/loud/quiet that would make the Pixies proud. These rough edges are a welcome departure from the keyboards-and-disco-beat slickness that's dominated the aughts. Album closer “Alexandria” slashes and burns, while tracks like “A New Credo” and “Pocou” find the band flexing their chops the most deliberately.

But Iocane isn't without its missteps—“Burnt to the Lips” is the Hoons most obvious concession to radio-friendliness, with a sweet and precious opening that could endanger diabetics and a chorus that ventures far too close to Matchbox-20 for our comfort. Our other quibbles are small, like the rhythm section sitting a little loose in the pocket on a couple songs, but that sort of thing is probably the product of what's also best part of the performances. The energy and enthusiasm that the band managed to capture on tape might not exist without that looseness.

Even after overcoming the obstacles familiar to any self-financed band offering a self-released album, the Hoons still face more challenges. Conventional wisdom dictates a band tours after an album release, no small feat for an Anchorage band doing it themselves.

“Touring plans are impossible without a large bank account or label support,” says Howland. “We could play Portland, Salem, Eugene, Medford—all in a three hour car ride,” he recalls of his Oregon-gigging days: “But I believe we are having a lasting influence in this city and even state.”

The Hoons CD release show, Saturday, November 28, Chilkoot Charlies