Ah, good old Temporary Residence Limited and their catalog of strangely reserved, and often wordless, works of high-ish quality that never seem to be aiming for giddy stratospheres (well, except for some of Mono's operatic guitar spires). The duo Prints are a perfect fit, and not just because multi-instrumentalist Kenseth Thibideau is a veteran of four other TRL acts. Their self-titled debut full-length boasted subdued production, like-whatever lyrics, and a general sense that the project was a leisurely outlet for two talented guys who didn't need anything from it. Listeners in a mode of endless intake might welcome such a breezy ethic, but those laboring to achieve more spartan hard drives probably took a pass, waiting until Prints squirt out something that plays like it just had to be born.
This new EP builds ever-so-slightly on one angle of the debut, which fused boogieless aspects of dance music with polite hints of psych. Much of it seemed to crave sounding all-over-the-place, but settled for the mild outskirts of starchy Tropicália. The album closer "End", though, added to the influence-porridge elements that suggested M83 trying to outswath a Trans Am coming after them with a cutting board. Just Thoughts mostly continues to mine this stilted, soft-hitting electronic vein. Less lingering is the suspicion that the tracks are showcases for musical chops whose authors didn't know or care whether they were making actual songs or, you know, "pieces."
The title kinda implicates the intentionally tossed-off lyrics, even though the phrase "just thoughts" actually appears during a passage worried about the brain's relentless presence. Stoner advice is the default here, with over twenty fizzy imperatives ("taste the color," etc.) coming in the first three tunes' twelve-minute span, climaxing in an answering machine message about tree sentience from Elizabeth Teebee'eh and the redeundant truism "what we make is made." Mind-clearing to the point of drool-farming.
Enter DFA's Tim Goldsworthy and !!!'s Tyler Pope, co-hosting a combined remix of two already-linked tracks from the long-player. Despite retaining the original Ween-caliber words ("There's a pretty tick/ Sucking your blood and shit") it's ingratiatingly layered/sequenced, and even dismisses itself elegantly, full of life but never violating Prints' apparent policy of only allowing would-be bangers to percolate. Which is why their new music can come off elsewhere like stately Of Montreal reworks by Steely Dan, elevator MGMT, or worse, like the inevitable (after the re-cooling of Vangelis and Balearic textures) indie peekaboo into the soulpatched chillout lounge.
