Unknown Mortal Orchestra - Unknown Mortal Orchestra: A-

"Thought Ballune"

Well, at least they’re being honest. There have been a lot of bands come out recently from relative obscurity with only excellent music to speak for them, but it’s not like Unknown Mortal Orchestra ever attempted to deceive people when they first mysteriously appeared with nothing but a Bandcamp page. They’re obscure, they’re of this Earth, and they have the songwriting chops of a philharmonic. On their debut album, Unknown Mortal Orchestra don’t attempt to mask the listener with elaborate stories. Instead, they just play catchy vintage pop, and for that we should be grateful.           

Unknown Mortal Orchestra is cut from the same cloth of many lo-fi garage rock bands that thought 70’s fuzzy pop was just the bee’s knees. At times, some clear luminaries of the revisionist genre come to mind like Ariel Pink on the muffled “Nerve Damage!”. The group’s style is very much pop oriented, but their songs are shrouded in low rent technology. While vocals are almost always present, the only actual word that can be safely deciphered is “alligator” in the chorus of “Thought Ballune”, which probably tells you less about the song’s meaning. However, don’t lump Unknown Mortal Orchestra in with unremarkable groups such as Dum Dum Girls or Hippies. The group’s use of tracks for recording may resemble the visual of only a few pixels on a computer screen, but, if each of those pixels is vivid and electrifying, it shouldn’t really matter. The production may sound amateurish, but the group adds a variety of sounds to their tracks to make them sound complete, such as the emotive backup singing in “FFunny FFriends” and the oddball guitar introduction to “Nerve Damage!”. The drums on the album are so muted, the fills sound like they’re performed on the backs of rubber buckets, but each “thud” is endearing, giving an “aw shucks” quality to the group’s innocent pop.

So it’s a fun experience throughout Unknown Mortal Orchestra to listen to the group transcend their medium. The harmonies in “Thought Ballune” are intricate and well arranged. “How Can U Luv Me” grooves like some of the best pop songs of the 1960’s; I can imagine it being performed by The Jackson 5. “ Little Blue House” even features some clear vocals to place the song in a more modern context, both hinting that the potential of UMO reaches much farther than this record and that perhaps this whole lo-fi act is a put-on. It may sound rudimentary, but there are so many moments on Unknown Mortal Orchestra that signify a long and fruitful career for this group. As far as I’m concerned, they can stay as obscure as they like. I just hope this isn’t the last of them. 

Unknown Mortal Orchestra - Unknown Mortal Orchestra: A-

Brian Eno - Drums Between the Bells: A-

"Sounds Alien"

U2 and Coldplay albums notwithstanding, you got to hand it to Brian Eno for being the OG oddball. The man’s been releasing albums nonstop for the past forty years, and has always maintained an air of strangeness to his tunes that would betray all of the mass acclaim he has received (the best track off MGMT’s newest album name checks him, so at least you know he’s good with the kids). He has often been labeled as the originator of ambient music, one the most confounding musical genres I have ever heard. And, for what its worth, from 1974’s Here Come the Warm Jets to this year’s Drums Between the Bells, you’d think nothing had changed.

Drums Between the Bells bristles with warped bass and mechanical noises, presenting a dystopian soundscape on which various vocalists can recite the poetry of Rick Holland. “Multimedia” undulates with wonky bass, “Cloud” features some spectral keyboards and “The Airman” is off-putting with its heavily reverbed bass drum. Eno makes these arrangements slightly off-kilter in order to keep the listener hinged on the range of topics Holland covers. When the vocalist on "Fierce Aisles of Light” passively mentions, “It’s a train again,” Eno accompanies it with the phased sounds of a moving train, adding literal drama to the otherwise spacious track.

The vocalists on Drums Between the Bells are all virtual unknowns. They range from people who work at the laundromat Eno goes to to his doorman, and the “recognizable” names will only be relevant to those already inclined to this genre of music. Nevertheless, all the performances on the album are well placed despite seemingly being plucked from anonymity. Male and female vocals share equal space and only a few times do they combine. Each seems to own the terrain Eno draws out for them, and they successfully add zest to Holland’s verses. A young, soft British female voice grounds Eno’s bouncy electronics on “Seedpods”. The male monotone on “Breath of Crows” envelops its ambience to create a dramatic if not show stopping album closer and the croak of the old British woman who graces many of the album’s tracks always gives a bookish nod and wink to the high-minded proceedings.

The voices of Drums Between the Bells seem recur in equal measure, so it often feels episodic. Eno spaces out his arrangements well so that when, for example, the old British woman comes back into the mix, she is welcomed by the listener’s familiarity. This is observed best on “A Title”, in which feral electronics swoop around the listener and that woman comes back in to regulate on the arrangement. As a side note, that old lady is a BAMF. She has a regal tone that sounds authoritative on the more ambient tracks and hilariously ironic on the more aggressive ones. Despite Eno being the main draw to Drums, it is clear that she emerges as the MVP, taking control on every track she appears.

The only deterrent from Drums Between the Bells is that it is, in essence, a spoken word album. There have been some great spoken word releases this decade, the late Gil Scott-Heron’s I’m New Here and Laurie Anderson’s Homeland to name a few, but there is something about speaking over music that will always give people the feeling that they are literally being talked down to. If that kind of stuff skives you out, then Drums Between the Bells will not be much help. Holland’s verses are standard poetic rumination. “The Real” talks about the perception of what is real (yep, that kind of poem) and “Glitch” and “A Title” explore the nuance of diction in a few minutes of sweeping generalizations. The minute of silence (entitled “Silence”) that comes at the end of the album would seem to confirm this high-minded disposition, but I would disagree. After all those delicious swarms of electronics and vocals have bombarded the listener for more than an hour, it feels like an appropriate respite. You could even say Eno’s earned it. 

Brian Eno - Drums Between the Bells: A-

Curren$y - Weekend At Burnie's: B

"This Is The Life"

All you will ever need to know about New Orleans rapper Curren$y and his array of albums released in the last few years is embodied in the first line of his newest full-length, Weekend at Burnie’s: “Ain’t nothin’ changed.” The man says it on the very good Pilot Talk as well as its improved sequel. He has a natural laid back flow and the kinds of songs that put him in the best light are the ones of Ski Beatz, where light jazz floats through the mist seemingly conjured by Curren$y’s THC-addled recording sessions. The man loves to talk about sports, women and pot. And ain’t nothing changed. If you’re looking for evolution, variance, it ain’t here. Curren$y enlists producer Masta Beatz to lay down the tracks, but it’s all the same. It’s even more monochromatic without the occasional pseudo-aggressive jam like “The Day” was to the first Pilot Talk. And ain’t nothin’ changed. Address, the weather, the music, the man. Ain’t nothin’ changed, ain’t nothin’ changed. 

Curren$y - Weekend At Burnie's: B

Eleanor Friedberger - Last Summer: B+

"Inn of the Seventh Ray"

Like Matt & Kim, much of the appeal of Eleanor Friedberger is that she treats her origins like a calling card. Her solo debut from her usual mainstay, The Friendly Fires, is peppered with specific references to New York City, and Friedberger flavors them with personal stories she tells in rambling, conversational candor. In fact, you could argue that that main draw of Last Summer is Friedberger as a personality, as the actual music that accompanies her is harmless soft rock, something that would not sound out of place on Marissa Nadler’s newest album. Where Matt & Kim, to continue this comparison, may keep their NYC inhabitance as a reference for their infectiously catchy tunes, Friedberger makes that inhabitance the main attraction. Luckily, this works in her favor.

The instrumentation of Last Summer is not at all revelatory. There are slight dabbles in funk (“Roosevelt Island”) and tropical rhythms (“Early Earthquake”), but the album mostly finds itself catering to the Brooklyn bohemian stereotype. Even if this was not intended (after all, who intends for the music on their album to be bland?), it ultimately helps Friedberger’s cause, because the rare variances in the music serve as foils for her forceful personality. Every time Friedberger says “ray” in “Inn of the Seventh Ray”, a rupture of echoes occurs, making her story all the more impressionable. While Last Summer will certainly not be remembered for any performance other than Friedberger’s, the music serves a clever purpose that helps to embolden the main attraction.

And the main attraction doesn’t disappoint. From what I have described, you’d think Last Summer was a musical travelogue… and it is, but it’s an excellent one at that. Friedberger speaks in a way that always makes her sound affable, so little throwaway phrases often become epic story-enders. “You got sick on the Cyclone,” she murmurs in “Roosevelt Island” as if keeling over from her own lovesickness. On “Scenes from Bensonherst", she bundles up her memories and moves on with the casual line, “Now it’s all of them in my inbox.” Friedberger may be intimidated by the passing days (“I said it wouldn’t come so close but it did,” goes one line), but she still sees 2010 as a glitter gold year. Last Summer gives a genuine impression of a girl in awe of the things around her, and Friedberger never ceases to describe scenes with brilliant simplicity.

This is best exemplified on “Inn of the Seventh Ray”, ironically the only song on Last Summer that doesn’t deal with a New York locale. Instead, Friedberger’s tale unfolds in California as she insists to go to the restaurant during trips. “If Highland Park isn’t close enough / There’s that place on the way / And into the Seventh Ray.” The words tumble out of her like someone that would be indicating they want to go somewhere without explicitly saying so. Her personality is well established, so it’s campy as opposed to grating when she follows up with this non sequitur: “Take a lecture in stereoscopics to show us the way / To see with one eye open and one eye closed.” At that point, you see it as business as usual.

In fact, I believe the biggest reason Last Summer is a very good as opposed to excellent album is that there aren’t more non sequiturs like that line. Friedberger has great poise that I would love to hear say more ridiculous things; perhaps cede more realism to fancy. Despite Last Summer being essentially held up by one vice, I crave more Friedberger. Perhaps a trip to a more exotic locale is in order, like Tatooine or Castle Greyskull.

Eleanor Friedberger - Last Summer: B+

Washed Out - Within and Without: B

"Before"

It was the middle of 2009, arguably the worst year for music in all the 2000’s. Albums kept pouring in but hardly anything was sticking. As if this feeling of stagnation was contagious to all genres, the summer yielded a plethora of artists that were playing a brand of pop that steeped itself in hazy electronics and indistinct vocals. If nostalgia came in a can, these groups would have sprayed their songs with it until they were thoroughly soaked. Nostalgia was their lifeblood, and the movement, formally known as chillwave, was either a refreshing deviation in texture or a further degradation of indie pop, depending on whom you asked. However, with all these arguments taking place, all that knew of the genre’s emergence could agree on one thing: that it was all ushered in through Washed Out’s “Feel It All Around”.

While far from revelatory, “Feel It All Around” always had an advantage because it did an excellent job of embodying pure bliss. Its analog keyboards were muted, its guitar chords light. Like much of the music that tried to copy its success, it seemed to embody less the good times of the past and more of the dreams recalling those good times, a song that could only truly be appreciated while watching something fun happen in slow motion as opposed to just experiencing it. It was a very agreeable summer jam, but I don’t think even Washed Out mastermind, Ernest Greene, knew how influential it would turn out to be.

Two years later, the state of chillwave in the musical lexicon is just as harshly debated as its musical merits were when it first emerged. There is no doubt that what is called the “blissed out” sound has had a significant effect on this decade’s popular music. However, if you ask this critic, that influence has not been particularly fruitful since that fateful summer of 2009. Many of the genre’s defining qualities have been dissolved into the sounds of lo-fi garage bands that no one should really care about, Toro Y Moi’s follow-up to his 2010 debut was good but not great, and Washed Out’s finally released debut album is hardly something to marvel at.

Washed Out - Within and Without: B

Vampillia - Alchemic Heart: B+

"Sea"

For those of you who checked out my list of favorite albums of 2010, you may have noticed another list on there of considerable length of all the albums I had yet to grade. Since that December 31^st posting, I have listened to and graded a lot of the albums on that list. Some of them I have enjoyed quite a bit, enough to place them in the top fifty of that massive aggregate.

An album released in 2010 that particularly peaked my interest post

-2010 was a collaboration between UK trip hop producers The Orb and Pink Floyd guitarist David Gilmour. Metallic Spheres was made up of two tracks, each a part of a metallic sphere whole. Each was made up of around twenty minutes of warped voices, reverbed guitars and indelible hooks that were perverted into dystopian dance rhythms. It was the optimal thing you could expect from a forty-minute album that consisted of only two tracks; oscillating odysseys that hardly got stale.

The excellence of Metallic Spheres has left a great impression on me since I first encountered it, so I cannot help but make it a reference when listening to the second album by Osaka artist Vampillia, Alchemic Heart. It too is a forty-minute album comprised of two tracks that each exceed the twenty-minute mark; the first is called “Sea” and the second is called “Land”. And like songs that need to fill up a lot of time short of playing a medley of Led Zeppelin songs ala Dream Theater’s A Change of Seasons, Alchemic Heart moves very, very slowly.

Vampillia - Alchemic Heart: B+

Symphony X - Iconoclast: B+

"Electric Messiah"

If you’re a fan of modern screamo, you have probably heard the use of subwoofer boom in otherwise metal-styled songs. The sound often punctuates the endings of phrases in order to give a track’s hook an epic conclusion. It’s a rather disquieting method, regardless of context, and can draw much attention to a song’s transitions. Unfortunately, though, the sensationalist likes of bands such as A Day to Remember have co-opted this technique in order to try to make up for the strength that their actual music lacks. Like so many others, this technique has been bastardized beyond recognition by bands such as Attack Attack! The most traction it has ever gotten has been on System of a Down’s Mesmerize. Aside from that, it has never been used to good effect.

Iconoclast, the eighth album from New Jersey prog metal band Symphony X, has a few strikes against it, one of which is that it frequently incorporates that technique. As one would expect, riotous booms serve as periods for the ends of musical movements, giving unnecessary oomph to aggressive arrangements that would be just fine on their own. When used traditionally, the technique is very annoying, but it sounds even worse when used incorrectly. There are times that Symphony X will use the booming sound to introduce verses, which can completely throw the listener off, as that explosion is supposed to highlight a conclusion, not the thick of a track. As a result, many of the verses on Iconoclast sound weak and underwhelming because they are snuffed under the bass’s massive presence.

This may sound like nitpicking, but the inappropriate use of this technique is indicative of the half-baked nature of much of Iconoclast. The album feels a bit unsure of itself, a sentiment typified by its theme. Lead singer Michael Romeo said in an interview for Blabbermouth that the subject of Iconoclast was “of machines taking over everything, and all this technology we put our society into pretty much being our demise." On the album, Romeo goes about getting this point across by making grandiose statements as directionless as his intentions. “What’s done is done,” he sings on “Dehumanized”. “I’m dead inside / I’m what you’ve all become / Mindless and mesmerized / Dehumanized.” Songs such as “Bastards of the Machine” and “Electric Messiah” set up straw men for Romeo to demolish with rote sloganeering. The execution would befit a group of half Symphony X’s experience.

But guess what? Iconoclast is still an excellent listen. Its themes may be undercooked and the group may throw themselves too wholeheartedly into gimmicks, but Symphony X’s penchant for excellent musicianship and catchy choruses is something that cannot be taken away from them. “Dehumanized” may be laughably heavy-handed, but Romeo sings that aforementioned pre-chorus with palpable gusto, making it easy to vigorously sing along to, even if the words are patently silly. Tracks such as “Electric Messiah” and “Prometheus (I Am Alive)” are persistent earworms. The group has an undeniable talent for hooks and the performance of each of its members is something to be in awe of.

Also, the album’s theme shouldn’t count against it too badly. Romeo’s specious arguments may be reprehensible, but they’re really not all that different from what the late Ronnie James Dio was doing in his prime. With all its particularly nimble guitar work and Romeo’s soaring vocals, Iconoclast can often feel like a twenty first century update of The Last in Line. The fact that the group can still pull off such memorable songs with such clear limitations is a rather fitting tribute to the original proprietor of the devil horns.

I’m hesitant to give Iconoclast my full support, because those first criticisms I mentioned do tend to get in the way when I try to prod the album for its artistic worth. However, if you are a metal fan, Iconoclast will most certainly be satisfying, because it really can be a brutal and meaningful listen. It can be found in both single and double album versions, so you know it will be expansive and feel sufficiently worked upon in the four years since Symphony X released an album. It has its flaws, but they are far from crippling. Something tells me RJD would be proud of it.

Symphony X - Iconoclast: B+

Handsom Furs - Sound Kapital: B- / Iceage - New Brigade: B

"No Feelings"                                                                             "Broken Bone"

Oh, post punk. What are we going to do with you? You were so prescient and refreshing in the late 70’s and 80’s, but now most of the proprietors of your pale, white, monosyllabic British guitar rock have remained boring and stagnant. There’s something poetic about how two post punk groups can come from widely different places – England and Denmark –and still sound inert and unmoving.

Iceage are those said Danes. Their debut album, New Brigade, is a collection of two to three-minute bursts of jagged guitar and muffled vocals. As unprofessional as that may sound, the group actually has an admirable talent for maneuvering through fairly complicated twists and turns within their constrained song lengths. Still, their sound is nothing new and New Brigade becomes one of those albums that reminds you of the fun you had while listening to the work of other bands that did what has been done here much better. Iceage’s musicianship is promising, but their lack of distinctiveness leaves much to be desired.

Where New Brigade made you want to listen to a better post punk album, New Kapital just makes you want to listen to something else. Where Iceage take their post punk sound into more raw territory, Handsome Furs incorporate electronics, ostensibly to give their sound more depth. Unfortunately this new addition seems to be an excuse for the husband/wife duo of former Wolf Parade singer Dan Boeckner and Alexei Perry to slack in the realm of hooks and song structure. The music on the album lurches through the tropes of trite balladry and Boeckner frequently opts for mundane lyrical platitudes like “What about us” and “You don’t serve the people”. As a result, Sound Kapital leaves hardly an impact when it ends. Its quality is worse than Cut Copy’s dull Zonoscope and just south of The Killers’ Day & Age (A position in which nobody wants to be). Like a lot of recent mediocre releases, Sound Kapital attempts to redeem itself on its final track, “No Feelings”, with a burst of synth fuzz and guitar distortion. However, repeated listens show that the track is hardly jarring; its eruption feels shocking in the context of the album’s epic banality. Perhaps I was desperately looking for something interesting to say about Sound Kapital by that point. I guess it turns out I disliked the album more than I thought.

Handsom Furs - Sound Kapital: B- / Iceage - New Brigade: B

Couldawouldashoulda: June 2011

Hayes Carll – KMAG YOYO (& Other American Stories)

Original Review Here

Now’s about the time when the Couldawouldashoulda’s start to really look like Honorable Mentions, albums you wish could have stayed on the top fifty for just a little while longer, but, alas, had to make way for other deserving releases. Hayes Carll’s fourth album is a great exhibit of an engaging personality. His voice is cracked and borderline drunken, slurring through his lines like he may just hiccup the next verse. But where this description may connote laziness, Carll brings a distinct voice to each of his songs, whether with wry political humor or homely specifics. His best work comes out on the hapless duet, “Another Like You”, the wartime frenzy of “KMAG YOYO” and the still heartwarming family get-together, “Grateful for Christmas”. Even if you’re not a fan of country music, KMAG YOYO is an album more than worth your time.

E-40 – Revenue Retrievin’: Graveyard Shift

Original Review Here

Right now, I’m working on a review compilation of E-40’s Revenue Retrievin’ series, so it’s fitting that this album should appear in this segment. We know that E-40 felt like releasing two albums on the same day last year and now two albums on the same day this year. This year’s Overtime Shift is the clear best of all four, so, thusly, Graveyard Shift should be completely ignored. Well hold on a second, not so fast. Graveyard Shift may not be as colossally satisfying as Overtime Shift, but it’s still a great album. Tracks like “E-40” and “My Shit Bang”… well, bang, and I’m not going to just sit around and watch people disparage it just because its companion piece is the musical equivalent of the doctor brother that the family keeps complimenting at Thanksgiving dinner. Graveyard Shift may not be as fruitful as Overtime Shift, but, if you’re an E-40 or just plain old hip hop fan, it’s a no brainer to get. Who knows, you might even enjoy it more.

Lupe Fiasco – Lasers

Original Review Here

LOL REALLY? I like thought this album was total shit! Lupe goes mainstream? HOW DROLL!!!!!! How could it possibly be on any honorable mention list? RU some kind of Lupe Fiasco fanboy or something? Well, yes, but that’s beside the point. We can get into a conversation as to whether it was right of Lupe Fiasco to go in the direction he did for his third album, Lasers, but there is no denying that, nevertheless, it is a very solid album. It sounds nothing like his magnum opus Food & Liquor or the comparatively disappointing The Cool, but it still observes Lupe in fine lyrical form over hooks that are actually quite catchy. So what if it works better at a club than a house party this time around? Does that make it worse? It doesn’t, so don’t believe the anti-hype. Lasers is a worthy addition to the Lupe catalogue, and I’m glad he’s back in the hip hop conversation.

Julian Lynch – Terra

Original Review Here

June 12^th

Check Your Mode: Hey Julian Lynch.

Julian Lynch: Ummm, yes?

Check Your Mode: I wuv you.

Julian Lynch: Well gee… thanks.

July 7^th

Check Your Mode: Hey Julian Lynch.

Julian Lynch: Yeah?

Check Your Mode:

:)

Julian Lynch: *sigh* Thanks.

Primordial – Redemption at the Puritan’s Hand

Original Review Here

Because I am constantly making lists and categorizing the music that comes out of the 2010’s, comparisons are inevitable, and the biggest may be 2010 overall vs. 2011 overall. It’s a valid query, but one that cannot be objectively inspected, because there are too many variables. However, I can safely say this: In terms of metal, 2010 definitely has the upper hand. By this time last year we had fantastic releases from Barren Earth, Stam1na, Triptykon and Nachtmystium. As of now, we only have two outstanding releases from Moonsorrow and Septic Flesh. Things can change of course, but I’d be lying to you if I didn’t say I was a little disappointed, being an enormous metal fan and all.

In terms of quality, Primordial is in a run for third place for best metal album so far (In a dead heat between Devin Townsend and Týr). The Irish metal group’s seventh album slays like their others, trudging through lands of distortion and double bass drum to deliver blows and vanquish enemies with the uniting power of massive balls. Singer Naihmass Nemtheanga rants at you to an almost numbing degree, but it’s all motivational, so it’s all good. Redemption at the Puritan’s Hand makes you less want to destroy shit than spout rhetoric at that shit until it realizes its life is worthless and decides to shy away and kill itself. Not much music does that, but, if there’s one thing you need to know about the newest Primordial album, it’s that it succeeds at it. Oh yes does it succeed.

Couldawouldashoulda: June 2011

The Antlers - Burst Apart: B / Malachai - Return to the Ugly Side: B / Snowman - ∆bsence

"Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out"

"Let 'Em Fall"

"Hyena"

Space is a wonderful thing to have on an album. It makes music more fluid, keeping the pace interesting. I cannot tell you how many albums I would have enjoyed if only they paused a moment from their unrelenting onslaughts; in many cases, a little space can go a long way. Many albums like that have crossed my path, and yet, I have heard ambient albums that feel like glorious translucent space that drifts through my speakers to give me a floating feeling, although it is clear I am listening to something substantive.

But it should always be noted that space is what it is: Nothing. And too much of nothing tends to swallow something, and good albums can be diluted because they yield too much of their running time to it. The newest albums by The Antlers, Malachai and Snowman all remind me of what can happen when space suppresses potential as opposed to enlivening it. Their approaches are different, but all are ultimately albums that feel incomplete because space is too involved a component of them.

Snowman broke up before the release of their second album, ∆bsence, but you wouldn’t know it from listening to their final project. Not to say that an album like this has to convey the tension I’m sure was building within the group during its making (After all, the final releases of groups like Fang Island and Yellow Swans gave hardly an indication of intra-group turmoil), but, there’s absolutely no tension to be found on the album, at all. What you mostly find are vague textures of keyboards, percussion and guitars. Falsettos abound through mountains of reverb with no notable distinctiveness. The album goes on like this and nothing happens time and time again. When the closing title track “explodes” with some unexpected distortion, it just feels like throwing a stone into an empty pool; it’s a loud “clank” and that’s it. No ripple, no nothing.

Malachai have a slight upper hand in that they at least observe some personality on their sophomore LP, Return to the Ugly Side. The album’s fidelity makes the music akin to lo-fi AM radio pop but with an erudite British edge, lead singer Gee Ealey’s nasally cockney sounding like what would happen if Oliver Twist joined a post-punk band in adulthood. However, while “Monster” features some bludgeoning percussion and “Mid Antarctica (Wearin’ Sandals)” has some gruff guitar riffage, Return to the Ugly Side also succumbs to the space of anonymity. Much of the album sounds like Britpop retread, and Malachai don’t do a very good job of convincing you otherwise. Return, ultimately, sounds like a series of Gnarls Barkley outtakes. Their vague 60’s aesthetic is held up defectively by a stale personality. Like Snowman’s “Absence”, “HyberNation” attempts to surprise the listener with some breakbeats, and, while, admittedly, it comes out of nowhere, it hardly saves Return from its mediocrity. It’s hard to see the album being enjoyed as anything but background music.

Coming to prominence with their 2009 debut, Hospice, The Antlers drew ears with plodding melodies and singer Pat Silberman’s devastating tales of loss and dejection. If you have read anything about the group’s Hospice follow-up, Burst Apart, it’s that, to an extent, it’s more of the same. I would agree with this sentiment; the group’s instrumentation remains tempered and Silberman’s falsettos remain nimble and affecting. In fact, Silberman does a fantastic job on Burst Apart. Many artists strive for delicacy, but he goes all-out, descending upon tracks like “No Windows” to give them a beautiful, sinister bent. It’s shame, then, that, despite the vocal acrobatics Silberman observes on Burst Apart, so little happens on the album. “No Windows” could be transformative if its expanse of organs and mechanized percussion weren’t so repetitive. Songs like “Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out” and “I Don’t Want Love” should be distressing admissions of sexual frustration, but their arrangements are shy, almost cowardly. Even as Silberman gives his best lyrical performance in the first verse of “Putting the Dog to Sleep”, its impact is dulled by the sheer modesty with which the group accompanies it. The track embodies the mission statement of Burst Apart: A great album by a group with a talented singer marred by the low ambition of its more than competent instrumentalists.

The Antlers - Burst Apart: B / Malachai - Return to the Ugly Side: B / Snowman - ∆bsence