Oh, this is f***ing beautiful. The phrase “cathedrals of sound” was so wasted on those insipid indie boys. This is playful, exultant, a rhythmic orgasm. It sounds how being tickled feels – breathless, delirious and a little bit dangerous. This is just USA II: The Great American Desert – I’ll get to the rest in a minute.
Battles’ percussive mantras, Sufjan Stevens’ orchestral bombast, Air’s lightness of touch and Necessary’s slinky grooves. There are vocals here, which I didn’t really expect. I’ve not heard anything by Deacon before (I know!) so I can’t compare this to prior outings. The Guardian reckons he’s singing his outrage at US foreign policy, but it all sounds like cotton wool and bunnies from where I am. USA III: Rail rattles along like a New Age prayer aboard a high speed express; USA IV: Manifest abruptly switches to a darker, almost industrial groove before segueing into a Battlesish chorus and then on into a showy flourish, then over.
Now back to Guildford Avenue Bridge and it’s a furious breakbeaty beast, snarling and snapping but wagging its tail by a third of the way in. Ian Curtis couldn’t dance to this. True Thrush manages to sound like the Beach Boys without aping those harmonies – it just sounds like cool breezes and sunshine. Air. But heavier. Lots is a full-on invitation to mosh – one of those play-at-top-volume-in-your-car tracks with shouty distorted vocals, la-la-la backing vox and big lolloping, rolling drums. Boy sure loves his vocoder
Like most of my favourite music lately, it is infused with classical in both structure and sound. Prettyboy would be at home on a movie soundtrack; the psychedelic repetition elsewhere reminds me of Steve Reich. (I love how so many acts can take the same bucket of influences and paint such different pictures.)
Ah, this is beautiful. (USA I: Is a Monster.) One of those breathtaking, eye-watering vistas like I imagine the Grand Canyon would be if you were standing there and realising how BIG it is.
Maybe not moved to tears, but humbled.