The Forms must be the band Steve Albini brings home to meet his mother. Sure, the Brooklyn foursome's records boast that signature crinkly Albini live sound and an array of post-hardcore guitar effects, but they're also devoid of the vitriol their engineer typically instills in his work. Instead, these sheepish indie rockers ruminate over cerebral motifs and intricate time signatures, and their self-titled sophomore album continues to work within the please-and-thank-you rock confines established by their politely catchy debut Icarus.
Although they ostensibly draw inspiration from the D.C. underground, the Forms reign in the more envelope-pushing elements of bands like Shudder to Think or Dismemberment Plan, salvaging a sort of introspective bedroom math-rock from the otherwise rowdy post-punk. This diffidence extends to the band's live shows and their relative anonymity amidst the deluge of band pics currently online. Even their album art shuns any possible showboating, composed of little else than extremely blurred photograph collages and the band's name in an austere geometric-themed font.
Despite their warm harmonies and almost exclusive use of major scales, these songs reflect the stoic workmanship of their packaging. Imagine your typical Doug Martsch ditty, rife with catchy octave riffs and ringing chords, then compress it under a stiff repetitive beat in an unusual meter and you'll hear something like opener "The Knowledge in Hand". While frontman Alex Tween's melody has a sing-song quality to it, the song never cracks a smile, maintaining perfect posture right down to the non-confrontational, conflict-less lyrics: "With the knowledge in hand/ I have no plans." "Red Gun" and "Focus" adhere to an almost identical formula of faux-looped riffs, with Tween obsessively repeating phrases like "Red gun fire to the ground" and "Focus on the target" until the hook feels as mechanical as the sturdy drums dictating it.
Theatrics may be a tall order for these guys, but the album's highlights tend to occur on tracks with more fully realized choruses and outros rather than repeated verses hiked up an octave. "Bones" and "Blue Whale" each dice up their rote verses with unruly refrains and unexpected breakdowns, and "White Dot", with its spectral keyboards and hazy reverb, even dares to wander off into shoegaze territory. Although the Forms may feel most comfortable sticking to the default setting of songs like "Knowledge in Hand" and "Red Gun", their follow-up, without the aforementioned changeups, would feel like a homogeneous reiteration of their debut. Hopefully another solid album in the bank will steel the group to push their abilities further on subsequent releases. Hey, if some of that Albini abrasion rubs off on the next album, I'll welcome the change of pace.
