The Occasion make languid and unpushful music, cloaked in fussy textures and not particularly eager to please. This means two things: That their New York City provenance will raise eyebrows, and that this review will be full of awkward synesthetic similes (A.S.S. in future mentions).
Trouble begins with the first audible event on the Cannery Hours's opener, "So Far". It is an undulating (A.S.S. #1) tape loop reminiscent of the bassy throb that inaugurates Murmur. Instead of being abruptly subsumed by more traditional percussion, however, the loop is the sole propulsive engine of the song. This is the first pleasant surprise in a series.
Further listening reveals a band luxuriating in murk (A.S.S. #2). Most songs hatch in thin air (A.S.S. #3) and build to soupy (A.S.S. #4) density while meditating on a recurrent chord progression. This is the sound of a democratic, clearly collaborative entity: Three of the members rotate on lead-singer duty, while background vocals remind one of-- dare I say-- the Arcade Fire, not to mention Barrett-era Pink Floyd. One member, Sara Shaw, is credited exclusively with tape loops, Martin Swope-style, and her contribution to the band's sound is hard to overestimate.
The songs show every sign of being constructed from the groove up, but they're songs nonetheless, not lava-lamp blobs or invisible-movie soundtracks; whether the band like it or not (I'm guessing the label does), there are some pop pleasures to be gleaned from Cannery Hours, especially the shorter numbers like "Back in Town". There's only one way for a record like this to come to a close, however-- with a 10-minute gigantojam-- and the Occasion abide: witness the lumbering, eye-rollingly titled "The Maiden".
Coming back to the "OMG they're from NYC" ledes the Occasion seem to occasion, I'd like to volunteer that there is, by now, a distinctive New York scene devoted to defiantly genre-less mid-fi psychedelia. Oneida's rather brilliant "The Wedding" is the best-known example so far, but bands like Grizzly Bear and, to some extent, the Occasion's Say Hey labelmates Inouk are certainly helping carve out this niche. The sound of their records seems rooted in rejection of dry ProTools perfectionism but isn't mannered or reactionary enough to see the hissy boombox stuff as an alternative. Instead, they deal in subtle dislocation: the electronics wheeze; the loops grate lightly against the drums, which are recorded and mixed clean but without flamboyance; there's a refreshing wobble and ebb of analog drift throughout.
