Letters/If It Ain't Breakfast Don't Fix It "Scattered Areas Where a Thousand Follow in Likeness"
In the style of Tom Waits' "Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards," broody and banging and swinging between melancholy vocals and slamming bass, drums and bluesy piano. Phibes-esque sustained organ notes, cut-up folk tales that transition seamlessly into one another with surprising clarity, New Orleans-funerary horns and cymbals. Fantastical organ grinder anthems, downtempo shoegaze, it's all got a nudge-wink sort of anachronism about it, á la Abney Park or Sunn O))), but never weighty. The words "I'm not prepared" sounded at first like "I'm not there," recalling the flat-voiced folksy side of Bob Dylan. A little Thom Yorke soft wailing to ceaseless drums. Banjo and violin are made schizophrenic and eerie. A real funny feeling at the steady plucking and squeezing, claustrophobic, or like being in a building that's about to be demolished. 10/10 -- April Larson (14 January, 2010)