This is the information age, so of course it's harder than ever to find out the stuff that's really worth knowing. Dozens of blogs posted recently about the new Au Revoir Simone album, and what was my favorite discovery? A goddamn B-side. As remixed by profane London/Paris dance-poppers the Teenagers, the Brooklyn trio's "Fallen Snow" brings out the hidden creepiness in its wispy vocals, but you won't find its future-haunted beats on The Bird of Music-- though these three women do come (HOMG!) David Lynch-approved.
Au Revoir Simone's sophomore effort opts for the fluttering, Casio-tinted synth-pop of debut Verses of Comfort, Assurance & Salvation, but getting past its sleepy analog atmospheres still takes some persistence. Anyway, lo-fi casualness is kinda the point; Pitchfork's Brian Howe has even called the group's music "the anti-synth-pop to the Moldy Peaches' anti-folk". On The Bird of Music, Au Revoir Simone have little trouble keeping up their offhand aesthetic. The album transcends this stylized nonchalance only when the compositions show some extra care.
Intrepid listeners can find the album's brightest moments on its second half, after the low-tempo thrum of "I Couldn't Sleep" (don't believe it) and the "Be My Baby"-beating organ swirl of "A Violent Yet Flammable World" (future Sufjan project?). Bright, no-apologies dance-pop songs like "Dark Halls" and "Night Majestic" at last find some tunes that stick, along with some less threadbare lyrical concerns-- like horse races! On "Lark", glistening keyboards finally eschew the emotional detachment of the record's earlier slow songs, beneath an even-toned admission: "Sometimes I want to be enough for you."
The Bird of Music's first half is a milky slog, drawing on the sparse electronics of Pipas or Young Marble Giants without the eccentricities that made those acts worthwhile. Despite a great video and sunny organ sound, the original "Fallen Snow" is a disappointingly tepid tale of romantic frustrations, even as it tosses off a decent line about "women who are middle-aged with naked fingers." Loneliness usually feels more personal. Undeterred, "Sad Song" perks up for Postal Service cubicle-weeping about sad songs and wanting to cry. After opener "The Lucky One" gets wind chimes and somber electric piano about right, it builds up to choir-like nonsense that'd make the Polyphonic Spree lose faith: "Let the sunshine, let it come/ To show us that tomorrow is eventual." Well, it's only a day away.
