Word: discã
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...covers. Where it isn’t always evident, unfortunately, is in the vocals, often coming across as either weak or too ornamental given the song material, and at times (“Where is My Mind?”) just plain silly. Particularly excessive is the disc??s final, whopping, fifteen-minute version of “Planet of Sound,” which expands the whirlwind-punch of the two-minute original into a lumbering hurricane (the phrase “fucking around” is repeated over forty-two times). With a few debatable moments...
...than 33 minutes long, the CD might just be too short to contain all the rock. Characterized by driving distorted guitar riffs, howling vocals and the old-school background subtleties of the electric organ, the Features cast themselves into the ranks of the Strokes and Jet. Highlights include the disc??s fourth track, “Blow Out,” that opens with a Weezer-esque upbeat chord progression beneath a few bars of catchy background vocals. Its elated chorus, “If you’re happy and you know it turn the volume...
...Romance continues the grand post-punk PGMG tradition, with the schizophrenia of the band’s tempos and chords supplementing the delicate imperfections of Andrea Zollo’s vulnerable voice. The disc??s highlight, “This Is Our Emergency,” serves as a perfect exercise in false-climactic restraint...
...insufferably pretentious. But the self-referential lyrics, an attempt to analyze the efforts of your average indie rocker, are mostly successful. It’s the sort of album Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst would be writing if girls didn’t keep destroying him. The disc??s strongest element is its assonant buried melodies, formed by a rather unsettling mash of orchestral gestures and bloated guitar blasts...
...superlative mixtape, bereft of filler and filled with killer tunes, all of which make perfect sense next to each other and fashion a satisfying whole. But it’s also a revelation that makes an irresistible case for the label’s unique aesthetics. The disc??s painstaking curation is a template for future movements—casual experiments, pristine dancefloor bombs...