Not a hair is out of place. The pace drags, the key is low, and the fem-bot signifies doom – or, I guess, what it feels like to lude out at the beach. With a tinny kind of obliqueness, the band deconstructs Pet Sounds by way of a Casio keyboard (OK, a “minimal approach”). Two or three songs marble the murk. And yes, prone to drone, the album does vibe; but I like my angst pretty and/or fast and/or straight (cf., Desertshore {Nico}, Pornography {The Cure}, the entire Joy Division catalog). Too often, Bloom misses the mark.
Joe Keaton
Weird tales for the late crowd. And riffs on pop culture.
