Songs
almost lugubrious in their depths. Songs billowing with trenchant
sadness. Songs enveloped in a palpably melancholic atmosphere.
Songs
dripping with a world-weariness (especially noticeable in the
vocal work—a sort of tired, depressed, ennui), but also,
hidden within the depression, the melancholy, the lugubriousness,
is a sense of enjoyment; a celebration of all these negative emotions—or,
perhaps, a celebration in spite of them; a wry spitting in the
face of dolor, a friendly sneer at feeling bad, a gentle kick
in the ass to complacent acceptance of your lot. This dichotomous
pairing of atmospheres is carried, full-bodied and eagerly alive,
beyond the overarching atmospheres and into the music itself:
the songs are slickly smooth, catchy nuggets of wonderful pop
music, propelled into a more melancholy state by the swirls of
lush, full minor chords; the dreamlike ambience, filling out the
sound, adding an enfolding warmth; a sense of dread, insinuative,
rearing its head, whispering dire nothings just when things were
looking brighter again and then slithering away, retiring, ever-watchful,
to the darkened corners.
The
songs on this record lack the conciseness of the songs on Night
Group, but this works in their favour; the songs are given the
chance to grow, to develop fully, to branch out, to push deeper.
The band is playing great: everything is being hit, plucked, strummed,
pressed, vocalised at just the right moment; not only is the band
playing great, but the members are playing great together. They
are truly meshing, entwined; playing not only with, but for and
to, each other. They are tight; Spidle's drumwork is particularly
inspired, and provides an incredibly solid foundation, likely
sturdy enough to support a several storey building with ease.
The guitar, bass and synth are tasteful, well-played, playing
well-constructed parts. Urich's basslines grumble and percolate
just under the surface. Thili's synthlines are understated, subtle,
the perfect complement to Smith's guitar—the jangling, the
bright, the sparking progressions. The vocal work is as well-meshed
as the rest of the music; the interplay between Smith and Urich
is becoming increasingly well-honed and the melodic and harmonic
choices are as sharp (not in the sense of being not natural or
not flat, but, like, keen [not in the sense of being neat or cool
or whathaveyou, but, like, smart, clever {although neat and cool
work, too}]) as ever.
The
production is... imagine a really handsome guy (I hear that your
humble reviewer is quite the looker. Just as one possible example.)
wearing a suit (I know that's difficult to picture) and this suit
is cut, hemmed and whatnot just for him. His shoulder blades don't
stick out, his posture looks human, everything that should be
well-defined is and everything that should be hidden is. The production
on this album is that suit and the album is that handsome guy.
This production takes this great album and makes it that much
better, takes it and adds that final touch—the glisten,
the polish, that soupçon of alacritous sparkle. To speak
more literally and realistically, however: the production is warm
and close, turning the album into an intimate, personal, private
listen, one of nuance and a quiet seriousness, a stoic calm. --BY
DANIEL BAY, AUG '09
