Gavin Russom, the longtime DFA signee, known to his cohorts as "the wizard" due to his penchant for handcrafting analog instruments, did two years at Bard College studying music theory, and has been making minimalist, interstellar jams in one iteration or another ever since. An essential part of the LCD Soundsystem live experience, Russom is a man who takes music seriously, and knows more about the mechanics of what he does than even your most dedicated connoisseur. For all his high concepts, though, he's had trouble translating his ideas into appealing music. His latest offering with vocalist and visual artist Viva Ruiz, the disco-house hybrid the Crystal Ark just isn't consistently interesting, an unfortunate fact for fans of DFA, who, along with the label's characteristic sheen, expect memorable songs like the ones they get from Shit Robot and Holy Ghost!.
Though everything on the group's self-titled debut is well-engineered, with track segments that sound practiced, and clear, the songs are often discombobulated and repetitive. Songs that go on for seven or eight minutes in order to heighten excitement simply drag when there isn't much excitement to be had. That isn't to say that the music isn't technically good or at least precise. The best track here, "Morir Soñando", is a funky head-nodder, powered by a springy baseline and trance-inducing verses on which Ruiz, along with back-up vocalists Jaiko Suzuki and Sokhna Mabin, chants about a romantic dream of love, paradise, and a land beyond. It's a dusky nighttime romp with enough thematic development to distract from relative musical stasis.
But too often, tracks slide by without supplying anything to fasten on to. Opener "Ascension" starts energetically with a heel-kicking synths but after about a minute it loses steam and, for the next four minutes, it drags. Those streamlined synths turn dirty and become a focal point but there's never anything that makes the song feel alive. Ditto for "Paradise", which, with its dial-tone staccato, continuously fools the listener into false climax without capitalizing on the energy that it builds throughout.
The worst sin that the group commits is indulgence. The two minute-long outro on "Crossing" is particularly aggravating, using an idea similar to "Dueling Banjos" while scrapping any novelty or amusement. These missteps are surprising because the Crystal Ark, while most potent as a live outfit, are capable of sounding great in the studio. Last year's single "Touch" was a great example of lithe disco-funk, which incorporated Russom's signature repetition while slowly building momentum. And a pair of singles from 2010, "The Tangible Presence of the Miraculous" and "The City Never Sleeps", found the right balance between rigidity and raucousness.
Those singles' descendants can be found in the last two tracks on The Crystal Ark. "Rain", the shortest song on the album, makes great use of the group's leads, as Russom and Ruiz guide pulsing funk and ribbon synths into a sexy, naturalistic chorus. And on "Silver Cord" Ruiz finds a particular phrasing that provides a backbone for the urgency of her backup singers. "Vibrations they rise and fall," she chants, before the beat drops out from under her and she's left alone, isolated in a dark room but singing with confidence that belies the tension in the music. On these two tracks form rises to match function and they provide a helpful counterpoint to their shapeless antecedents. The Crystal Ark's best tracks that work are the ones that actually exude some spirit in their mission to move bodies.
