For the second time today, I find myself marvelling at a band that can make music that is both lush, ornate, and richly wrought, yet also accessible, compelling, and contagious. And for the second time today, I find myself struggling to put a label on that sound. But perhaps it is a habit I should get out of; maybe I should leave such journalistic urges behind and accept the music for what it is.
As I say, the music that makes up yc is textured and layered, but never overdone or anything less than addictive. Take opener “Close To You,” a heady blend of spiralling guitar riffs and meandering, melancholy trumpet, unexpected time signatures, and full a wealth of stimulating sonics that wander between the sweet and the sweeping, the seductive and the squalling. And yet, it is spacious, everything is heard, and no one sound or instrument gets in the way of any other.
And if “Cold Light” is built on slightly jazz-infused prog structures, its calm confidence and instant accessibility stand in stark contrast to the drifting ambience and brooding, shoegaze-infused grace of “Isn’t Anything.” And then “Dawn” seems to be the bridge between those two worlds, reminiscent of the drifting and experimental pop of Mercury Rev, not a reference I give out lightly.
As debut albums go, it doesn’t get much better —a calling card and mission statement for the band, and a sonic beacon for the discerning music fan in these dark days of conformity and complacency, comfort zoning and lack of imagination. The accessibility of pop, the creativity of prog, the artistry and flights of sonic fancy of the avant-garde, all swirling around in a brilliantly creative crucible.
Avant-pop? Yes, why not?
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