The Impossible Shapes have been a kind of Rorschach test for critics; their previous albums have been likened to everyone from Syd Barrett to Small Faces, Stephen Malkmus to Robert Pollard. Comparisons to the Elephant 6 Collective were apt not only because of the Shapes' psychedelic influences but because they were equally prolific: In addition to several IS albums (they released two full-lengths in 2003 alone), Peter King and primary songwriters Chris Barth and Aaron Deer have released solo projects, and three members of the Shapes moonlight in the band John Wilkes Booze.
On Horus, they're still indebted to sounds of the 1960s (sounding less "lo-fi" here than ever), both in their British folk-influenced melodies and psychedelic textures. But compared to their previous work, Horus is tighter and more focused, and the songs are static in tone rather than the dynamic shifts that fans may expect. The whimsy of their previous efforts has been flattened in favor of a consistent, melancholy mood.
The album isn't necessarily dark, though its lyrics might suggest otherwise. When not singing about demons and princesses, Chris Barth grounds the fantasy elements of his lyrics with heavy thoughts of loneliness. You can hear it in "Putrefaction", featuring lines like "You will drown down below/ While ever onward I roll" and "Now go off on your own/ I feel better alone/ I turn seaweed to stone/ I make music alone." But the words sound lighter on record than they do on paper thanks to Barth's boyish delivery. "Forever Alone" even sounds oddly triumphant, with a horn section backing the chorus of "I am alone/ Tonight and forever."
The pair of "Demon" songs are the most memorable tracks. "Demon Child" sets the bar early, moving from warm organ tones into one of the record's few rock riffs. "Demon Love", on the other hand, is the lone curveball of the record: It begins as a prodding dirge, but when in the chorus swells with a choir of backing vocals, it's the closest to real despair the album gets-- but it's also its most gorgeous moment.
The melodies take time to grow, but the brevity and unresolved air of these songs make many of them feel like fragments. I hate to sound foreboding, but the record that Horus most reminds me of is Pavement's Terror Twilight. It's a worthwhile record with some minor peaks, but I hope the band finds their way out from under Horus's grey cloud.
