Mark McGuire – Living With Yourself

You hear the innocent little boy speaking over the pristine chord, both seemingly free of distortions. As time passes, the chords start to take definite direction and subthemes develop beneath the surface.  After awhile effects are applied, differentiating a personal style. These effects produce ripples which send out energy, suggesting connection with and impact on the outside world, and continue to grow in confidence until waves are made. Outputs increase in frequency and fervor until finally the force coalesces into a vibrating ball of energy with no sign of decay. After a sustained climax at peak intensity, things slowly stabilize, landing softly with a clarifying peace.

That was the story of “The Vast Structure of Recollection” the lead track of Mark McGuire’s first proper big-label, mass-produced album, Living With Yourself. It also traces the broad contours of a talented kid growing to adulthood, and the metaphor underscores the living and growing quality of McGuire’s music in general. Making an instrumental album about something, and to have that something communicated beyond the creator’s mind, is not an easy task. But with a few titles, a few samples of speaking voices, and a compositional structure which emphasizes growth from simplicity to complexity, McGuire has taken what he’s already been doing very well – a groovy mixture of soft focus pscyh, wide-screen soundscaping, and free-flowing kraut – and contextualized it in a way that makes it even richer.

Beginning and ending with tapes of McGuire as a little boy recorded by his old man, Living With Yourself has an autobiographical feeling to it. Juxtaposing little Mark’s chatter with big Mark’s intricate guitar creations highlights the wonder of development and backgrounds the long time span between being born and finding a unique artistic voice – the hard work of incremental improvement. Even as this slower period of learning isn’t given explicit form (no mishit chords or excruciatingly slow builds) – it seems to be addressed implicitly in the connection between McGuire’s presentation of self and his inclusion of loved ones in his audio story. The feeling of love is palpable on these tracks – both the love and support received by the artist and the appreciation flowing back to those who helped shape him.

Still, it’s more of a tone poem than a mushy love letter. Aside from the added context, few new tricks are rolled out, but if you’ve been following McGuire at all in the past, all the touchstones you’ve come to expect are here. “Around the Old Neighborhood” starts as two understated chords and then modestly builds – at first with different strum patterns – and then with multiple small motifs that act in concert, tugging at the edges of the piece, dislodging little emotions which tumble out of the cracks. “Two Different People” and “Clearing the Cobwebs” share the same esthetic, rounding out the most introspective numbers on the album. “Clouds Rolling In” brings the action, tunneling along in time like a motorik workout – only with the drums replaced with a scratchy rhythm guitar to keep the propulsive momentum. Its warm, buzzy drone and minimalist syncopated guitar patterns evoke the ominous feeling of a storm brewing. “Brain Storm (For Erin)” follows with some trippy, wiggly guitar noodling from which a dripping melody emerges. After simmering down, the melody returns with distortion and is transformed into life-or-death seriousness, beaming itself down from on high, striking with the dangerous electricity of a lightning bolt.

As for the newest trick here, final track “Brothers (For Matt)” sees McGuire as straight up rockin’ as he’s ever been, breaking into power chords and an extended dual guitar solo glorifying the intimacy of the brother bond – competition, pride, protectiveness, and fate all rolled into the most complex and intense relationship a young man can have. It caps off an album filled with breezy, emergent beauty with a bold exclamation point. Props to McGuire for making an album exuding love, humbleness, and gratitude which didn’t sacrifice any of his compositional complexity or overemphasize its conception. He should be proud of living with himself.

Mark McGuire

Editions Mego

Dylan LeBlanc – Pauper’s Field

Raised in the famous Alabama Muscle Shoals, Dylan LeBlanc spent his childhood days immersed in the music he heard via his dad, a sideman at the studio. Now he splits his time and musical energy between Nashville and Shreveport. His music reflects these folk and country influences (Nashville’s Spooner Oldham being another clear influence) in full force, most if not all of the songs supported by a distinctive deep-south country guitar twang. Generally speaking, Pauper’s Field is an album that’s easy to listen to, but there are times when he seems less influenced-by and more derivative-of older country musicians.

When you listen to Dylan LeBlanc, and even if you only hear twenty seconds of one track, there’s one very obvious part of his style definitely worth noting: his voice is gorgeous. Pauper’s Field is a strong collection of contemplative, heartfelt songs in its own right, but his singing, similar to Ryan Adam’s, is the focal point that ties everything together. Higher registers, such as in “5th Avenue Bar,” are hit without trouble well all the while he retains the recognizable rough croon of country-folk. Emmylou Harris even signs backup with LeBlanc on “If The Creek Don’t Rise,” which is definitely one of the album’s gems.

From track to track you’re confronted with a world-weary edge, an element in both his lyrics and the essence of his songs that implies he’s much of humanity’s darker side. It’s then interesting to, after a couple of listens, reconcile these at-times melancholic tracks in Pauper’s Field with the fact that LeBlanc isn’t legal to drink yet, that he’s, as of now, only twenty. Despite these at-times darker subject matters (“Death Of Outlaw Billy John”), his music isn’t shocking or dissonant, and there are even moments when the sound mellows out to a softer, understated sound.

While the lyrics aren’t always the most creative, and some songs occasionally sound more derivative than original, the album as a whole is a listenable and even enjoyable collection of contemplative melancholy, imbued with the “rough times” sound of older folk music.

The Lovely Eggs – If You Were Fruit

Lancaster, England-based Holly and David of The Lovely Eggs know how to pack a tin full of sonic sardines, as they do on If You Were Fruit, where they stuff the U.S. release of their debut album with 19 yummy morsels (14 from the studio album, plus 5 lip-smacking cuts off their U.K.-released EPs).

The guitar-based indie rockers and ballads are generally a cross between feisty, riot grrrl sing-alongs and cute-as-a-button rambling where Holly and David utilize a plethora of acoustic to electric instruments to bring their slightly off-kilter creations to life.

Main singer Holly charms with her perkily-enunciated British accent and enthusiastic vocal delivery, while David adds his deadpan tones to certain songs, providing a pleasantly laid-back foil to Holly’s more spirited take.  The songs range in theme from eclectic ideas to everyday concerns, like a fondness for specific animals and foods (and the artist Jon Carling) to sitting on a cushion and doing various activities to, well, issues of life, love, and death.

Distorted guitar riffs and drum ‘n’ cymbal crash rage through “I Like Birds but I Like Other Animals Too”, but the pummeling is off-set by Holly’s sweetly innocent vocal melodies as she matter-of-factly makes her way through fanciful animal, food, and romantic imagery, tossing out phrases like “the watermelon state of your mind”, “a clover leaf tied in my mouth”, and “bird song tweet of your heart”.  “Mices” is a killer track, starting off quite innocently, with Holly’s winsome vocal delivery that belies the fact that something a bit more sinister is afoot.  The lyrics focus on mice until thrashing guitars suddenly roil the waters of the chorus, as Holly reveals there are sharks in the water.  Oh, poor, defenseless mice, but it’s quite exciting for the listener.

There are quieter moments on the album, like “Where’s My Animal?” where Holly sings in a delicate, hushed tone amid plucked acoustic guitar, a muffled low-key beat, and David’s occasional vocal accompaniment.  Another softer number is “If You Were Fruit”.  A soda can being popped open starts the song and leads to subdued harmonica notes, metal ‘n’ glass tinkering and tapping, and the complex lyrics “If you were an apple then I’d want to be at your core / and find out about all the things that you were fighting for.”

“ODeath” alternates between calm passages where Holly sing-talks demurely amid sprinkles of chime, low-key bass, and slow-hit drums, and agitated heavy metal guitar riffage and distressed exclamations.  “Have You Ever Heard a Digital Accordion?” is a standout track that combines the DIY, plucky charm of bright, sing-song vocals and cheeky lyrics about accordions, scorpions, and…yes, beef bourguignon (love the British accent on that word), with a sudden descent into a shouty, discordant inferno of chaos at the end of the tune.

The rambling, lyrics-heavy, and highly amusing “Baulk Cushion” features Holly and David taking turns on sing-talking vocals, accompanied by all sorts of funny sonic accents that go along with the words.  It’s a bit repetitive since all the sentences end with “…on the baulk cushion.”, but what can be done on it is really eye-opening.   For instance, “flying kites”, “driving fast cars” (replete with engine start up), eating cheese and drinking red wine (with an added slurp), “trimming up your beard” (as scissors snip away), and even “washing down dogs” (complete with dog barks) can all be accomplished whilst sitting on the baulk cushion.  Who would’ve known?!!

As for the bonus tracks, The Lovely Eggs kick it old-school riot grrrl style on “I Want to be Your Fire” as “Good, golly!  Miss Holly” hollers up a storm amid a throwdown of punk-hoedown rhythm, distorted guitar, and drum and cymbal smash.  Holly speedily spouts the lyrics “I can do what you do / I want to be in a band / I want to play a guitar… / I’m gonna be a star.”  The lengthy titled “I Want to Fall Off My Bike Today” is ultra-short at under one minute and has a garage rock motif of guitar and drums.

The oddity “I Collect Snails” is a twee charmer with bright notes, recorder toots, and wiry guitar strum, although David and Holly overlap so completely on competing vocals that it’s hard to pull the lyrics out.   They sing-talk about all the things they collect, like snails, horses (really?), shoes, telephones, matchbooks, cassette tapes, wheels, sequins, watches, windows…

EP from Elephant & Castle out now

Elephant & Castle Prep New EP
“The Look” mp3:

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Elephant and Castle is a kaleidoscope of sound; twisting and grooving to create music all it’s own.  Based out of Oakland, California, it is the project of musician/sound engineer David Reep.  Starting with a love of old vinyl and the endless digging through old thrift stores, Elephant and Castle was formed with the idea of making modern music out of mostly vintage material.  Similar to new bands such as Flying Lotus, The Samps, Free the Robots and drawing from the legends such as Madlib, Juan Atkins, and Derrick May, Elephant and Castle attempts to bridge the gap between cheese and soul.

During time spent living overseas as a youth in London, England, David absorbed the early 90′s electronic scene as well as the explosion of Britpop.  There he became obsessed with learning the guitar, eventually leading to him picking up bass, keys and drums.  Upon returning to Houston, Texas for high school he was primed for the booming rave scene, seeing many of his heros spin vinyl in forgotten warehouses.  After moving to California for college, he started the record label Third Culture Records and continues to dedicate his time and effort to support new artists.

Elephant and Castle’s debut release, Analogue EP was released August 31st via Third Culture Records.

Elephant and Castle on BandCamp – http://elephantandcastle.bandcamp.com/

Women – Public Strain

As much as music appears to be changing, there are many aspects that remain the same. Fundamentally sound music is still, at the core, a foundation that needs to be set and, ultimately, musicianship is the key to that essential element of success. For Canadian band Women, that musicianship was on full display with the nervy, noisy art rock of Women (2008, Flemish Eye).  It was an exuberant skill that showcased ambient waves of discord with intricately splendid rock and roll. Public Strain is definitely not Women 2.0: it’s longer (none of the songs are less than two and a half minutes long), and the massive swell of sound that they are still trying to perfect, seems almost capable now.

For starters, it’s entirely different than what was previously heard on their self-titled 2008 album. While that album was crowned on the basis of having strong melodies with loud, yet, gorgeous layers of sound, Public Strain takes the focus and shifts it – only slightly – towards the concentration of songcraft and fleshed-out songs. Gone is the immediate drive of “Cameras”. Here it’s replaced with the spacey ambience of “Can’t You See.” Tuneful, artistic and possessing those impeccably catchy riffs, Women sound enticingly new and refreshing. The album’s lead single closes the album with “Eyesore,” a song that chimes in the same path as any indie rock staple.

There are definitely plenty of moments where the top is blown off and the music is allowed to join in uproar with the blowing wind. Before and after the storm, during the calming lull, the guitars battle through a call and response. But it’s during the explosion of “Drag Open” that we hear some of that trademark noise. “Bells” is where the drones come in and, through some of the most minimalist songs on the album, every change is more significant than the previous. The dissonance and cluster of chords that are at the middle signal the bells to arrive but, instead, the minor melody of “China Step” brings everything back to that aforementioned focus. These are much larger sounds than just ‘noise rock’, and it’s also much more emotionally-charged than what you’d expect.

The songs take shape through their melodies and the band’s impressive skill at blending tightly wound progressions with immense walls of sound. As on “Heat Distraction,” the music ebbs with constant pressure from the guitars and bass; the high-pitched melody and outstanding drumming almost remind you of Deerhoof without notice. Working with Chad VanGaalen seems to be something the band relish in most: being able to turn in different skeletons of ideas to someone whose mind is crammed with musical explorations. The chemistry the band has with VanGaalen is undeniable and they each benefit in the end from it. Some songs like “Untogether,” are nothing more than a patient chug before stunningly transforming into a growing elevation. Understated, it’s as if two alternate ideas seemingly morphed into a creatively great one and, for the most part, that’s what Public Strain is about.

The sounds are still abundantly large, there is no mistaking that. The exceptions that come in to play seem the most thrilling as well: tighter mechanics and wistful songs that sound singularly unattached. Sounds come and go but the inspiration and wherewithal to realize your own goal in tone is paramount. Women seem to know exactly what they stand for and in presenting it they’ve entirely outdone themselves, again.

“Eyesore” by Women

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Jagjaguwar

Panico – Kick

It seems as if Panico just appeared out of nowhere. They are in fact from Chile, but have lived for most of the last decade in Paris. And, while this is their 7th album, it seems that it’s their first to receive a full US/UK release, available everywhere except France on the Glasgow based Chemikal Underground label. Also, Kick was recorded in Glasgow, chosen in preference to London, Paris or even Santiago. This was  partly due to Panico’s connections with Franz Ferdinand, in whose studio the 10 songs that make up the album were recorded in the space of a week. With production handled by Gareth Jones, whose recent credits include These New Puritans and Liars, and who less recently handled the mixing board on behalf of (among others) Depeche Mode and Einsturzende Neubaten. I really feel like I should know more about Panico than I actually do, with names like Chemikal Underground and Franz Ferdinand invoking an element of nostalgia from this formerly Glasgow based Scots music critic. But it’s taken until their 7th album for Panico and I to get acquainted.

And if second albums are often difficult, what does that make a bands 7th release? It’s no less than 5 years since Kick predecessor Subliminal Kill, and with the band now approaching their 16th year together it’s possible to appreciate the artistic and personal forces that must drive Panico today. Recorded in just one week, Kick is the product of a group of experienced and talented musicians competing with the constraints of limited studio availability (they probably got it for free) and using this to provide an added impetus to their songs. This seems to pay off for the most part, although there are also a few indicators as to what an album recorded in two or more weeks might’ve sounded like.

Live in Paris for a decade and find yourself exposed to what are some relative obscurities of the often insular French music world, such as Telephone, Programme and Metal Urbain. The songs on Kick are sung in English, French and Spanish, and with nearly two decades of experience to draw upon, the range of styles Panico are capable of using – hard edged electrorock, industrial noise, pop punk, latino balladry – makes Kick resemble a greatest hits compilation more than an entirely new release. The one week limit on their studio time might’ve given Panico a bit of an adrenaline boost, but it also results in one or two moments of throwaway afterthoughts, but credit must go to Gareth Jones for holding this one together. ‘”llumination” sets the tone for what (mostly) makes up the overall sound of the album: atmospheric electronics and percussion that break into a tightly controlled amalgam of banging drums and insectoid guitars. “Bright Lights” and “Icon” continue these themes, accelerating the pace and coming on a bit garage punk respectively. “Reverberation Mambo” is perhaps the album highlight, the one track on which all the elements (and there are a considerable number of these) which Panico bring to the soundlab actually cohere fully, an electrified samba punctuated with swathes of echoing vocals and electronica. This, I suspect, is the real Panico: the production clearly references both Depeche Mode and Neubaten, and Panico are more than able to create music and sound of a similar stature. Probably the album highlight, but a very special mention must go to the sub Ramonesy stomp of “Algodon”, sung entirely in French and referencing Belgian one-hit wonder Plastique Bertrand. ‘We don’t take it too seriously’ is apparently the message right here and it’s also the track that reveals the confusion of styles that Panico’s own experience and circumstances present them with and, while the quality of the songs might remain for the most part consistent, Panico very nearly stretch themselves too far over the 2nd half of the album.

Perhaps the opening track of the second side of a 12″ or cassette release, “Waka Chiki” probably began life as a ukelele strum on some distant southern Pacific shore although it quickly speeds up into a frenetic mutoid garage track. “Guadalupe” is a heavily percussive synth-rock piece, again redolent of a Latino Depeche Mode, while “Uptown Boy” is a clear nod to Franz Ferdinand. Next track is a bit of a duffer though. Least attractive and weakest of the songs on Kick is indisputably “I Wanna Be Your Needle” which, after some of what precedes it sounds a bit lame, probably thrown together in a hurry and whose ‘heroin chic’ lyrical imagery sounds a bit rubbish, frankly. Perhaps the lyric would come across as more credible in French or Spanish: it falls very flat in English. And final track “Distant Shore” seems to belong on another album entirely. A soporific ballad that has Panico drifting into an altogether smoother, even sophisticated style which, with its phased guitar and undulating rhythm, doesn’t really resemble much of what’s gone before it, although it’s probably an indication of how Panico might want their next album to sound.

Kick more than provides a long overdue introduction to a band whose career has, for the most part, happened outwith the Anglicised rock world from which they draw much of their influence, but Panico might wish they’d taken more than a week over its recording. I haven’t, regrettably, access to any of their preceding 6 albums to make proper comparisons with. I also need to mention Ivan Navarro’s glossily Vorticist sleeve artwork, yet another example of an album cover that requires a larger format than CD provides. The confusion of influences and energies that surround Panico certainly find expression on this album; see if you can find a vinyl copy.

Hosannas – Then & Now & Then

Hosannas‘ evocative music is a mix of narcotized pseudo-folk and textural experimentalist that offers much melodic warmth, but conditionally. The condition is that you accept the stark environment in which these songs are set, and the sometimes forbidding noises that buzz under and lurk around each fragile guitar chord or skeletal piano arpeggio.

Brothers Richard and Brandon Laws construct songs where folksy gentility is forced to consider modern alienation. This isn’t just a matter of inserting harsh white noises such as those that swoop into the heart of “King Crow,” and linger thrumming in the background like Allen Ravenstine’s vintage noise-synthesizers from early Pere Ubu records. That stuff works, but it’s also in the way the tune devolves from its first suite-like section into its second, a beatless ghost of a melody whose heart gives out even as it finds new chords and directions for its lonely tune to wander through.

The same wavering spirit animates “Seen You But See Through,” another rustic tune with deceptive complexity that works itself up to a steady rhythm only to repeatedly fall into an elastic mood of dark contemplation. Then & Now & Then continually rides waves of cresting and crashing emotion, a process made accessible through the brothers strong melodic gifts. Their wiry harmonies, gritty/pretty guitars and keyboards, keep the music from falling into lethargic nothingness. Instead, a certain bravery is evident in the syrupy flow of a song like “Asleep in the Weeds,” a recognition that the lyrical and melodic content is enough to tell the story, and an appreciation for the pungent atmospherics of their bare production.

“Listen to that little girl in your spine/and stop living your life so fucking blind.” I’m not sure that’s exactly what’s being sung in “Onward with Bravery” but I hope it is because it’s good advice; also because the music on Then & Now & Then sounds like it comes from an inner voice, one that is fighting to be heard from within the core of a compromised, confused but still redeemable beast.

http://www.hosannasmusic.com/

http://www.hushrecords.com/

Of Montreal – False Priest

Prolific songwriters tend to flabbergast with their steady flow of releases, sometimes unfortunately casting aside true substance in favor pure mass.  Kevin Barnes – operating, as always, under his Of Montreal guise – is no stranger to this trend, having time and again astonished audiences with both his rapid fire cadence of new releases and multi-faceted songs that are sometimes as gauche as they are eclectic.

Since 1997, the Athens, Georgia native has pumped out no fewer than a dozen albums of rapturous indie pop, beginning with the gleeful debut Cherry Peel.  Over the years, the naïve whimsy has been dialed down to make room for more sexual drama and glammed-up cynicism, but Barnes has never loosened his grip on a songwriting style that consistently manages to boggle listeners with its capricious musicality.  It’s well known that Of Montreal has spent most of its career in the left field, and 2008’s maddeningly uneven Skeletal Lamping only confirmed that Mr. Georgie Fruit (our leading man’s alter ego of the past three years) was perfectly content to hug the warning track for the foreseeable future.

Like his hero Prince Rogers Nelson before him, Barnes has woven an impressive tapestry of work over the span of his career, often towing that perilous but no less tempting line between raunch and sophistication.  So it goes with False Priest, an album that makes a tremendous case for namedropping Mr. Purple Rain more than just once or twice.  It’s a remarked rebound from Skeletal Lamping, though the album isn’t exactly going to reign in any prospective fans either; accessibility has and always will take a back seat to artistic ambition with this act.  If anyone is going to be seduced into this beautiful mess, it’ll be the fault of Jon Brion, whose booty-shaking production here ensures enough low end to keep the bodies moving all night long, even as Barnes sings about being soaked in animal blood.

False Priest continually flirts with both funk and R&B, two mainstays of the Prince catalog.  “I Feel Ya Strutter” goes for the throat right away with squealing synths, yelping falsetto vocals, and chopped up shards of electric guitar that sound like any number of John Frusciante licks.  It’s a hyperactive, raucous opener, Barnes sounding incredibly chipper when he sings, “I was so blessed with you / girlfriend.”  Part-time collaborator and friend Janelle Monáe shows up for “Our Riotous Defects,” a bombastic glam/funk hybrid about a crazy girl who killed a betta fish.  Or something.

Lead single “Coquet Coquette” is one of the first tracks to show off the luster resulting from Brion’s touch; the song absolutely kills with its gargantuan drums, intensely melodic bass line, and agitated guitar.  Companion cut “Godly Intersex” operates on similar terms, as a club beat, hand claps, shimmering electronics, and Barnes’ helium-high vocals turn things into an adults-only interplanetary jam.

Most of the album’s other tracks explore similar terrain, in which Barnes vacillates between the seedy (“Sex Karma,” featuring Solange Knowles) and speculative (“Enemy Gene,” once again with Monáe).  Only on the darkly confessional “Casualty of You” does everything get stripped away to reveal an entirely defeated man (“Everything is wrong / I’m a casualty of you”) as ominous piano, drums, and strings plod along.

Other noteworthy numbers include the synthesizer-heavy “Hydra Fancies,” and “Famine Affair,” which boasts a chugging bass line, lyrics about someone’s evil ways (“Like some childish demon that takes pleasure from its sting / you’re a bad thing / bad thing”) and an anthemic chorus that is captivating in its simplicity.

Barnes may overuse his giddy falsetto and the album still feels a little too dense at times – as is the case with the seven-minute closer, “You Do Mutilate?” – but False Priest generally packs the kind of shock and awe that made 2007’s Hissing Fauna such a delight.  Throw in some deft work at the boards by one of today’s hottest producers and a couple of guest appearances by notable female vocalists, and you’ve got one of 2010’s most colorful releases.  It’s not for everyone, but that’s half the fun of it.

Solaram – Love & The Sweet Divine

Branching out as a solo artist under the band name Solaram, Joe Tagg writes songs that hearken back to the days of psychedelia a la Brian Jonestown Massacre and like-minded outfits. The album Love & The Sweet Divine has an easygoing vibe to it, with plenty of sustained organ and acoustic guitar and tambourine, but it does occasionally break into Byrds-like guitarisms in the bridges.

Released on the Rainbow Quartz label, it’s no surprise that the album dips its toe into the psychedelia pool. It’s melodic and trippy and retro, with the odd modern-era update to remind you that’s it’s not 1969 anymore. If “Precious Time” sounds like an ode to slackerdom, about drinking wine and passing idle time hanging around, it’s perfectly fitting with the kind of back-porch, casual attitude that permeates the album. The singing is unfailingly relaxed on this and the other songs. The languid tempo and playing on “I Wonder” induces you to go back to bed and pull up the covers: it’s either the best or worst thing to listen to if you’re having trouble getting on with your day.

While most of the guitar playing sounds pretty standard for this kind of music, the pretty acoustic picking on instrumental “Fur C-Ann” breaks out by breaking it all down. And the opening “When She Falls” has the most obviously dated feel in just the opposite direction. With the bright, trebly electric guitar laying down a Byrds/Crenshaw line and with Tagg singing about girls and love, the cut is indistinguishable from the paisley redux that last came to us in force with the Three O’Clock and Rain Parade. As the album opener, it’s a fine choice even if it does set the bar a little too high for the rest of the tracks, which sometimes come close but never match its combination of charm and catchiness.

Wildbirds & Peacedrums – Rivers

There’s not a whole lot of music to Wildbirds & Peacedrums, most of their songs are stripped down to a spare, wooden drum and some alternating synth plunks – but they’re always centered on one specific thing – Mariam Wallentin’s husky, near-shamanistic voice. The Gothenberg husband’n’wife duo maintain a strikingly distinct sound, especially considering they’ve only been active since 2006. Their latest long-player Rivers is naturally a sparse, dense work of mystical, naturalistic sounds and shining, almost pre-natalic textures.

Wildbirds & Peacedrums have been dubbed with the blanket, reductive term ‘experimental’ music, but like fellow avant-age heroes Dirty Projectors, there’s a fair amount of pop in their DNA. The noises on Rivers, while off-beat, are more or less pleasurable, not testing the listener – instead introducing them, guiding down the increasingly sealed-off world the record builds for itself. Sometimes they mutate island-y tropicala flavors into a bare bones Beach House-like saunter, sometimes they break everything down into whispery would-be-post punk, sometimes Mariam is singing over nothing but a distant, distant, distant chorale wail. But whatever they’re doing, they’re always breaking down. Wildbirds & Peacedrums find their inspiration from what’s not there – playing just enough sounds to constitute a song, in my book that’s a hefty achievement.

Wildbirds & Peacedrums

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