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This collection of instrumentals is bewildering in its variety and intent, miniature symphonies with the tinkling plunk of a toy orchestra and a sharp whiff of sulfur from a struck match.
Really, this review only needs five words: Francophone spaghetti western rock songs.
Cycles, repetitions, patterns within patterns, beats drifting out of focus and slowly emerging as the same beat, but different. The aural moods on this album are on the ambient side, but reward attention with slow progress and contemplative amnesia.
No denying this band exists in a dual space of Gen X ridicule and genuine nostalgia. The new album is filled with the same sunny indie-rock wink-and-grin disposition that rightfully earned them the title, broadcasting into/from the airwaves of 1994.
One final challenge awaits: swim through the Reservoir of Bliss, filled with honey, liquid moonlight, and endorphins, then dance in slow motion across the infra-disco, as BRONCHO's underwater guitar syrup and whispered falsetto choruses are playing.
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