ASOBI SEKSU – CITRUS (ONE LITTLE INDIAN)
Complete with lurid Japanese band name, Asobi Seksu have been lingering around New York for a couple of years now oblivious to a crowd and fan base baying for the music that they are suggesting.
Coming on like My Bloody Valentine from the grave with guitar jangles almost Johnny Marr-esqe in delivery and echoing Asian vocals that sound as if from another planet, the album opens strongly. And then the sound gets hard! For a while……..
I get the impression that the Blonde Redhead comparison is something of a red herring and it engulfs me with major misgivings. Sure the lineup and home city may match but the material on offer lacks in substance and electricity. It would seem the return of shredding walls of noise is very much back on the agenda this summer as the further this record proceeds; the more it drifts off out of control. Indeed unfortunately at times the sheer flatness of the wall of noise renders the vocalist as little more than some kind of Enya figure battling against the elements.
It just feels sadly dated in its production, it is fairly clean and crisp for what is in essence a noise record with thrills. In its high times it reminds me of some sort of Matador band I would expect to hear on a Hal Hartley soundtrack in the nineties but when things fizzle out, it seems to lose its way.
Asobi Seksu hardly match up to the Japanese translation of their name as the relative meditation of their MBV-lite arsenal ultimately runs the risk of sending the listener to sleep. Rather than being some kind of exciting Blonde Redhead prospect, instead it feels like Julee Cruise running away with the vocals on an average David Lynch soundtrack.
For a release I was actually really looking to listening to (and hoped to enjoy) the gimmick just does not appear to pay off resulting in something akin to the much missed Spooky-era Lush, sadly lacking any real bite.
Thesaurus moment: incomplete.
Asobi Seksu
Friendly Fire
One Little Indian
Complete with lurid Japanese band name, Asobi Seksu have been lingering around New York for a couple of years now oblivious to a crowd and fan base baying for the music that they are suggesting.
Coming on like My Bloody Valentine from the grave with guitar jangles almost Johnny Marr-esqe in delivery and echoing Asian vocals that sound as if from another planet, the album opens strongly. And then the sound gets hard! For a while……..
I get the impression that the Blonde Redhead comparison is something of a red herring and it engulfs me with major misgivings. Sure the lineup and home city may match but the material on offer lacks in substance and electricity. It would seem the return of shredding walls of noise is very much back on the agenda this summer as the further this record proceeds; the more it drifts off out of control. Indeed unfortunately at times the sheer flatness of the wall of noise renders the vocalist as little more than some kind of Enya figure battling against the elements.
It just feels sadly dated in its production, it is fairly clean and crisp for what is in essence a noise record with thrills. In its high times it reminds me of some sort of Matador band I would expect to hear on a Hal Hartley soundtrack in the nineties but when things fizzle out, it seems to lose its way.
Asobi Seksu hardly match up to the Japanese translation of their name as the relative meditation of their MBV-lite arsenal ultimately runs the risk of sending the listener to sleep. Rather than being some kind of exciting Blonde Redhead prospect, instead it feels like Julee Cruise running away with the vocals on an average David Lynch soundtrack.
For a release I was actually really looking to listening to (and hoped to enjoy) the gimmick just does not appear to pay off resulting in something akin to the much missed Spooky-era Lush, sadly lacking any real bite.
Thesaurus moment: incomplete.
Asobi Seksu
Friendly Fire
One Little Indian
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