Seven, the new triumph from Beach House, opens sounding like Glasgow-flavored The Fugs on Viagra, drawing influences from Gram Parsons and The Birthday Party, with a knowing nod to (the criminally underrated) DJ Spooky.
Seven is the garage-emo-ers' attempt at pitch-perfect, fashionable, flawless soloing rock.
Seven resorts to sentimentality—for good reason: Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally were writing this music in a Ph.D. program. Thus, Seven marks a musical turning point, รก la the Beatles' White Album (except if Ringo wrote every song).
"Dark Spring" echoes strains of a The Stooges-esque dirge, with a penchant for minimalist guitar sheen and esoteric vocal orchestration, while the more carefully orchestrated "Pay No Mind" slows it down, reminiscent of Sun Ra on heroin. However, Beach House provides a perfect counter-point with "Lemon Glow". But such lack of design has its own charm. The result? explosive, cosmic, dreamlike freak-tronica. Perfect for a road trip during a blizzard at the beach.
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