Talk about a dark ride! This Columbia, MO, band's debut begins with a sliver of light imagery and then plunges through deep waters of confusion, regret and anger, scrambled onto quicksand and winds up crying for the womb. Brilliantly complementing these desperate images are swirling rhythm figures and washes of guitar that craft great looming shapes and currents out of the blackness. The result is over an hour's worth of music every bit as punishing as it is beautiful.

More than any contemporary artists, this music calls up the ghost of Joy Division, the early '80's English group that released most of its material after the suicide of its lead singer, Ian Curtis. That comparison stems partly from the fact that this band has the same meditative focus and similar arrangements, but more importantly, it comes from this band having the kind of intractable integrity the doomed band had. This music is almost always every bit as serious as its subject matter, which sometimes causes it problems.

On a song like the centerpiece, "Opus: Tongue," the line between ambition and pretension becomes pretty blurry. The waltz-like rhythm, accompanied by acoustic guitar and synthesized strings, reached three different textures of crescendo creating awe-inspiring effects. At the same time, the Jim Morrison-like, stentorian vocal is more than a little hard to take seriously. Operatic choral backing on "Their Numbers Came Up" and "He the Wolf" created similar distance.

But then the shimmering guitar-backed meditation "Wonderful" captures a precious, honest poignancy. More ambitions, "Cliffhanger", fires indignation at one who would make life into melodrama to avoid dealing with real issues. Between these two great moments lies the key to this album, a revelation that our simplest reflections may unlock a vast darkness, right where the soul's light ought to shine.

Pitch Weekly
September 11, 1997 - September 17, 1997
Soundbites
Danny Alexander