Reminiscent of the disheveled, gravelly properties of Electrelane, L.A.-based Midnight Movies' second album converges the vitreous vocals of singer Gena Olivier with the boat rudder effects of the band's instrumentation: grumbling organ, guitar, bass, and dutiful drums. These murky 11 tracks, produced by Steve Fisk of Soundgarden and Nirvana fame, mingle the listless, ruminative qualities of punk with, dare I say, a woman's touch. Bolstered by original guitarist Larry Schemel and the recent additions of bassist Ryan Wood and drummer Sandra Vu, Olivier's clear, often reverberated vocals are the sweet voice of reason behind the instruments' punch and the guitars' acerbic blows. On "Hide Away" her refrain, "I will find you," is as flatly delivered and monotonous as any number of post-punk vocalists, yet it's still awfully effective and charming.
"Ribbons", which follows, is a glittery, girly affair dressed in the moping heartache of the Cure, or better yet, a 1950s prom sendoff, full of plush, waltzing percussion, and a wide range of soulful, strong vocal notes. Here Olivier flirts with Becky Stark's impressive soprano work. But with her backup pumping out a weak pulse in the heavily echoed background, the effect is subtler and wins us over with the warm organ and bow-out lyric, "You're all I want to know." The song, in the end, has more feeling than a mirrorball'd high school gym, the last line bearing the weight of experience.
Even if we leave aside imaginative, other-worldly titles like "Coral Den", "Ribbons", and "Bell Tower," the Movies, here and there, show glimmers of the fleeting, ghostly structures of Beach House's 2006 debut. "Bell Tower" is the hung over, washed out, pretty vitriol to "Coral Den"'s boisterous acceleration. "Den" only differs from the pervasive guitar monologues found on Electrelane's latest because it contains more lyrics, and while the Movies' little vertiginous cameos can hold sway on their own, this band is considerably more dependent on its lead singer. And what a minor key can do to suggest lyrical profundity that may not actually be there: "Parallel Paramour" possesses many of the decorations this album wants to show off: fingers-on-chalkboard acid guitar solos, undulating or piercing organ, and a slew of dark melodic moments that drag us into a damp fog of emotion, if only we could hear its verbal meaning.
But on the punchy Doors throwback "24 Hour Dream" it suffices to nod in slow-mo head-bang to the heaving rainstorm of a chorus, a downtrodden yet ardent sticky-note about the end of time, or so the musical notes suggest. Creeping keyboards and wobbly effects pedals keep up the pleasant Zombies vibes through to the end, but never abandoning rock. "Dawn" may be an entire intro-- an ice-cream truck song remixed for the soundtrack of Blue Velvet, perhaps-- but "Two Years" insists on the oddly triumphant heft of sheer noise, both the sunny, shortlived intro and energetic chorus making a piece that goes from strength to strength, historical chapter to chapter.
