Wet Hair have a long and long-winded history as some of the Midwest's reigning vibe merchants. The Iowa City duo's members-- percussionist Ryan Garbes and keyboardist/vocalist Shawn Reed-- used to play in Raccoo-oo-oon, a sorely missed noise-rock group that released three records and a handful of rambling, live-to-tape jam sessions before disbanding in 2008. Since then, Reed in particular has established a heavy underground presence, both through his Night People label (Peaking Lights, Dirty Beaches, Pocahaunted) and his hieroglyphic-style visual art.
Where Raccoo-oo-oon went heavy on spastic syncopation and post-punk guitar skree, Wet Hair have followed a mellower path. By patching rinky-dink synths through a bevy of effects, they work up vintage krautrock haze on a DIY budget. The band's two albums have been heavy with luxuriant lo-fi drones and unhurried eight-minute bliss-outs. This time around, they've opted to rein in the jams a little. Wet Hair's third LP, In Vogue Spirit, is its most straightforward batch of songs yet. Garbes and Reed temper their open-ended improv with the traditional stuff of rock: guitar riffs, deep bottom end, and propulsive rhythms.
Album opener "Echo Lady" flows forward at full speed, powered by fuzz-bass and motorik percussion beneath a wall of dizzying keyboard textures. It's In Vogue Spirit's immediate, head-bobbing moment. After that, things only get weirder. On "Tarantula", a web of interlocking melodies spins over the distant rattle of a junk-shop drum machine. Reed delivers his lyrics in a cool-headed, Alan Vega-worthy whisper, which is then further obscured by a cloud of echo.
In their previous output, Garbes and Reed took heavy inspiration from the German electronic psychedelic music of the 1960s and 70s, but added a layer of ear-scorching grit inherited from the mid-00s noise scene. On In Vogue Spirit, their reference points have drifted toward the dreamy pop moves of Silver Apples and Spacemen 3, as well as contemporary psych-droners like Moon Duo and Sun Araw. The headier compositions, "Liquid Jesus" and "Cosmic Radio", forgo distortion in favor of lush and dreamy texture.
In both Raccoo-oo-oon and Wet Hair, Garbes and Reed have been uncompromising in their pursuit of the outer limits. They set up a table full of banged-up doodads, set the controls for the heart of the sun, and let it rip. That hasn't changed. But with In Vogue Spirit, Garbes and Reed have delivered a more consistent, considered record. Space is still the place, but they've found shortcuts to getting there.
