So many bands have recently taken steps away from their lo-fi roots-- Ariel Pink, Vivian Girls, Times New Viking-- that tape-hiss diehards probably wonder if anyone will actually stick to their scuzzy guns. Those fearful might look to self-proclaimed "shitgazers" Psychedelic Horseshit as the last line of defense. If even these snotty shamblers are willing to wipe their noses and tuck in their shirts, then maybe lo-fi is just this generation's musical training wheels.
Sure enough, if you drag your needle quickly across Laced, you'll probably think this Ohio band (now a duo) has cleaned up its act. There's less guitar muck, less maxed-out tape noise, and fewer moments of impenetrable chaos. But that doesn't mean the music is any clearer. These 11 songs are just as weird and demented as those that came before, maybe even more. The weirdness just comes from different sources now-- bouncy electronic beats, playfully psychotic synths, and Matt Horseshit's hypnotic voice, which has melted from brash and bratty down to stoned and endearingly subdued, even if it still sounds like it's pouring out of his nose.
All of which makes this edition of Psychedelic Horseshit more immediately enjoyable, whether or not you dug them before. To be fair, it's not a drastic turn-- 2009's Shitgaze Anthems was also pretty upbeat and relatively clean. But Laced takes those qualities to a new level, one filled with memorable melodies, bright atmospheres, and tons of sonic exploration. When things do get cacophonous, as in the overlapping drum stomps of the Black Dice-meets-Excepter "I Hate the Beach", it's more about epiphany than obscurity. That's also the case with Horseshit's vocals and lyrics which, as he rightly noted, "are more dreamlike. There's not a lot of pointed 'fuck this' and 'fuck that.' I got sick of that stuff."
Not too sick, though. The band's notorious Wavves-bashing still shows up on Laced, albeit more subtly. It's hard not to see the title "I Hate the Beach" as a veiled jab at both Nathan Williams and beach-obsessed chillwave. Same goes for the anti-summer lyrics of "Tropical Vision", which begins with the couplet, "I don't need no waves/ Don't need no palm trees swaying." But Psychedelic Horseshit aren't just tearing things down, they're building something unique out of the rubble. The best example is the title track, whose wavy synth glitter, computerized rattle, and Royal Trux-ish sing-speak form a bafflingly catchy hook, like a sculpture chiseled from scrap metal. It's a smart self-revision-- Horseshit and partner Ryan Jewell are hacking at themselves as much as their supposed rivals. As Horseshit put it, "Sometimes you gotta cut the tree down to make it bigger."
Laced is indeed bigger and bolder than previous albums, which is somewhat ironic since it has a more intimate, made-in-the-bedroom feel than the band's earlier basement forays. And its rangy invention points to a wider future for an act whose schtick could've gotten stuck in a static cul de sac. That's not because this album is cleaner or that lo-fi is larval skin to be shed. Psychedelic Horseshit might next get more lo-fi or more hi-fi, darker or poppier, better or worse. What I like most about Laced is it makes me excited to find out.
