This Los Angeles indie band has been making music for over a decade, crafting wistfully melodic tunes relying heavily on musicianship over catchy beats or generally uplifting content. If you hear “Auditorium” when you walk into a house party, be warned, everyone has already reached that distinctly mellow point of no return. If you’re looking for some additional kicks beyond stoney conversations in dimly lit rooms, I suggest you move on to your next engagement. From “When Cold Air Goes To” to “Morning Bird,” this is all peaceable stuff that won’t surprise with any inventiveness. The rhythms are lazily executed but tight nonetheless, vaguely countrified and strengthened by nice harmonies. “Watching Crows” could be the standout track, opening with the line: up all night watching the cows swim. The imagery is strange, the ensuing tempo changes are unexpected and the overall delivery is effective. Personally, I’d like to hear some more dramatic electric guitar work to offset the hushed modulation of “A Dog Named Ohio,” “Happy Spirits” or “Hills of Stone.” In fact, any vaguely abrasive touches would be welcomed wakeups from the lulling pattern of song after song sculpted around quirky lyrics and sleepy triple meter sounds.
The Radar Brothers are a capable “slowcore” band that has arguably heard their share of weird Ray Davies ballads, got hooked on Pink Floyd and maybe, just maybe, has spent too much time in the studio honing an all too clean and sheltered sound. After having listened to the album three times over, I’m still aching to hear a distinctive blip or startling point of artistry that distinguishes one cut from the next. The band seems to be building towards something, playing with great attentiveness, but never quite arriving at a point where the music carries itself outside a very defined comfort zone. “Auditorium” at its lowest points is no more than a theater for the drowsy and resigned.
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