Chapel Hill-based quartet The Kingsbury Manx start and finish their third full-length by expanding upon what critics and fans found so engaging in their out-of-leftfield successful self-titled debut. Initially seen mainly as purveyors of atmospheric psych-folk, the band has since studiously expanded its range, venturing into more conventional midtempo indie territory with a few flashes of more centralized alt-country inflections. Aztec Discipline, brimming with nascent virtuosity, retains the spacious, creeping, melody-glutted sensibilities of their previous albums, but hints that their best material may yet be unrealized-- here, they retain all of their earlier strengths (intelligent, breathy vocals, lush harmonies, a certain vintage) while branching out into more frolicsome territory.
The album openers, "Pelz Komet" and "Crowler in the Rumbleseat", nearly skip off the CD with candid pop immediacy and adroit craftsmanship. Both spring forward, showcasing several distinct melodies, which gives the impression that you've just heard four songs in eight minutes. The prior glides into a steady acoustic rhythm before it spins off an angled electric guitar jam and discharges with a stuttered finale of piano driven buoyancy and recurrent utterances of, "Time is all your own when go it alone and there's no one there to tell you when you're already home so don't wait another second/ Take a step in that direction." The latter slides between similarly upbeat propulsion and a gorgeous sidestepped guitar progression coupled with Brian Wilson inflected layered harmonies. Think of a hepped up Radar Brothers with an engaged sense of levity.
Familiar dreamy meditation and gentler affinities befall the middle third of the album. Though no songs truly falter, none equally parallel the level of excellence established by the first two. "Grape to Grains" finds the band wading in textured Brit-country waters, with slide and acoustic tones twinkling above placid, low-mix harmonies. The biggest departure is likewise the biggest speed bump; the aimless distortion of "De-Da Dementia" conspicuously finds the song playing the band, rather than the other way around. The Kingsbury Manx's most realized moments are spun when the band is fully in control, playing with a confident, structured melodic discernment and clear-cut vision. Such is the case with tenth-frame "Fixed Bayonets", a laidback confluence of sleepy harmony, banjo and guitar. This, along with a few other flares of effortless excellence, showcase the band's true potential.
Curiously, The Kingsbury Manx released a separate five-song effort, Afternoon Owls, a mere month before Aztec Discipline's release, comprised of sturdy, well-seasoned and multi-textured efforts, with a near perfect pitch. Though a commonly propagated conviction, if narrowed down to an EP's worth of material and collated with the best of Afternoon Owls, a near perfect album is quietly tucked away. As is, the mirth we're left to soak in is as high a yield as most efforts in this sonic realm: smooth, relaxed, and rustic music put together with tender lovin' care.
