It's hard to avoid the faint sense of inadequacy conveyed when describing a work as a "sketch". After all, the sketch is generally considered a mere preliminary, an outline for a greater piece to follow. Personally, I'm not sure that dismissal is entirely justified. Comedians jot down their own sketches, for instance, as a basic guide for the action to come. The final result depends on the comic, and the best improvisers bring a scene to life in ways that might not have been envisioned on paper. In general terms, the minimal outline of the sketch has its own appeal: the interpreter gets to flesh out the details.
Mus bring us their latest sketches by way of Xixón, Spain, rendered in the Asturian dialect sung by Mónica Vacas. As a romance language, it's close enough to Spanish that you may easily translate certain words while others remain mysterious, just on the edge of recognition. Vacas, along with bandmate Fran Gayo, has crafted a fine second album, though not without the help of guests Iván Palacios on bass, Luigi Navarro on guitar, and Frank Rudöw on drums. The band has turned away here from the pastoral psychedelia of Aida, their contribution to Darla's "Bliss Out" series. Though drenched in deep, midnight blue reverb, El Naval's sparse arrangements take a more realist approach.
Roughly half of El Naval consists of near-acoustic piano ballads, while the other half is upbeat and electrified. The latter songs form the heart of the album. "Embalses y Ríos" burns with a vibrant, melancholy bassline reminiscent of The Cure's "A Night Like This." Vacas reworks lyrics from Aida, issuing them in her soft, direct style as chimes tingle and a piano breakdown cues the midsection. Later, the jangling guitar introduction of "Cuesta" presages an angry, shambling groove, and the ramshackle drums sound all the more startling after the silence. Afterwards, "Casi Ensin Zarrar los Gueyos" drifts outward on a bed of synthesizer delay akin to Pink Floyd.
The quieter compositions are less remarkable. "Al Debalu" begins the album nicely with warm guitars and the steady tick-tock of its percussion, and Vacas's vocals lower to an enticing whisper. But "Al Oeste de la Divisoria" allows for altogether too much intimacy, what with the heavy-handed piano form and, more notably, her sniffling intake of breath after every line. I think of it as the "caught a cold" song, and strangely enough, it conveys that atmosphere aptly. "Sacramento" fares better, with its backwards trails of acoustic guitar spun by guest Irene Tremblay of Aroah. Still, these slow, predictable etches rarely diverge in tangent. By the time "Rencor" is reached, the simplified music box jingle sounds like an unnecessary ode to Danny Elfman's Edward Scissorhands score.
Which is not to say that Mus lack surprises. The interlude "Casería" uses the production's depth to its advantage, forming an organic glitch pastiche from the echoes of what sounds like a slammed door. Personally, I love the thick reverb on this album, but it's hard to deny the suggestion that overproduction often attempts to hide a lack of ideas. Though Vacas's and Gayo's reliance on the resonance of their instruments and the simple emotive framework of their plaintive rhythms is enough to get them by here, one wishes for some of the progressive songwriting the duo demonstrated on their "Bliss Out" volume.
