Not surprisingly in a genre premised on stylistic choices that bear almost universally negative connotations, instrumental post-rockers lead a pretty thankless existence. Their music is slow, humorless, and uneventful. Looking for gimmicks? Try elsewhere. Though their live performances can be Voice-of-God loud, recorded sound has a disappointing, mellowing effect on bands like Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, City of Caterpillar, and ambient-metal label Neurot interlopers Red Sparowes. Success stories are few. When Explosions in the Sky scored a big-budget Hollywood film, Friday Night Lights, it was a sort of backhanded compliment: The band, who'd theretofore propagated unwieldily large instrumentals, were sought after to make cool background noise.
So how is a band to survive making such underappreciated, often derided, music? One way is to do what Red Sparowes do, which is infuse their lumbering instrumentals with idiosyncratic guitar licks that poach from forbidden genres. You know, those emphasizing concision, catchiness, and ease of digestion.
At the Soundless Dawn isn't exactly pop. In fact, the album is all instrumental post-rock in its viscera, from the swollen, hour-plus runtime (avg. song = nine minutes) to the ponderous doses of reverb. But de-bone these meaty cuts and you'll find some unexpected stylizing. Froghopping discreetly from soggy new wave to ecclesiastic country twang, Red Sparowes find a way to the beat tedium inherent to their genus-- then ride it for so long that...are you paying attention?
"Mechanical Sounds Cascaded Through the City Walls and Everyone Reveled in Their Ignorance" tops 11 minutes but rocks the silo for a too-brief spell, bending and sliding like a syrup-sipping Ry Cooder. But there's still those other 10 minutes to account for, and the build-up/comedown are the means that don't justify the ends. Somewhat-title track "The Soundless Dawn Came Alive as Cities Began to Mark the Horizon" sobs just fine without vocals, thanks, awaiting its emo (not emo) troubadour. (He never shows.) "A Brief Moment of Clarity Before the Deafening Hum, But it Was Too Late" flirts with awesome Unwound sewer grooves, but it's too good-natured to do any damage, dressing its sludgy privates in a Big Distorted Chorus.
Red Sparowes treat their genre like a menial internship: It's entre to bigger, better things, right? Or maybe they really are passionate about instrumental post-rock. Beats filing, I guess. But at these lugubrious tempos-- and this album's interminable length-- listening is a lot like busy work: redundant and largely unrewarding.
