Devil in the Woods run an interesting label. Check out owner Mike Cloward's history of the company on their website. They publish a print magazine, DIW, which features contributions from notables such as John Vanderslice, and they review lots of bands that aren't on their label. And guess what icon the review section uses for ratings: Pitchforks! Aside from the long-lost ivory bust of Ryan Schreiber, what greater tribute to the 'Fork could you ask for?
Unfortunately, I can't quite decide what rating to give Northern Electric. Cruiser don't quite merit a Pitchfork-waving salute, but I can't skewer them on the end of the sharp blades, either. The seven-piece ensemble of Scots play fuzzy shoegazer pop with a twist. Surprise: they add electronic beats! Like Laika! This, unfortunately, is part of the problem.
The album opener, "Personality: Goes a Long Way," starts with scratching noises and bowed violin. Cue next the distorted guitar haze and drum loops, which thump in a crude, almost militaristic pattern. The melody makes for cutesy pop, as do the predictably understated female vocals. Singer Caroline Barber leaves subtle trace of her Scottish accent when she repeats, "Things are never the same as before" over and over again. She's wrong, though-- at least in regards to the song. It sounds nice but there's little ingenuity, reminding me most of a Polara album whose title is the exact opposite of its content: Formless/Functional.
Similarly, Cruiser's problem is that their beats are too structured and repetitious. The Chemical Brothers-style breakbeat of "Blown," for instance, bludgeons you with its obviousness throughout the song, and the "Sesame Street" melody that chimes along doesn't help. "Hardly Even Here" mixes its percussive wallop more carefully with the sweet, dense hum of guitar and keyboards, incubating a frozen Dots and Loops-period Stereolab embryo. But the beats never transcend decorative status, and the grooves lack the requisite amount of bass and vigor to be conventionally danceable. By the time you reach the wannabe-Bows spoken word of "Air Ecosse," the only thing shaking might be your head.
"International Space Station" stands out amongst these drowsy daydreams. The Richard D. James-patented thoom-chiks actually cycle in a progression, filling in the gaps between ringing guitar and cello-- and when they fade out, leaving only an echoing piano, you'll miss them. But the latter half of the album proves that Cruiser sound best when their more organic elements take forefront. Here, the beats exist only as simple drum-machine tracks that don't overpower the atmospheric e-bows and delay pedals. The title song is a particularly beautiful example. And now that she can be heard, Barber's voice provides a soft, pleasing counterpoint to the banjo strums and brass backing.
But the other problem lies in the production. Rather than an overpowering wave of sonic force, all of the songs on Northern Electric are trapped behind a blurry wall of sound. The muted effect makes it difficult to hear the individual timbres of the instruments spread throughout, including harmonium, mandolin and glockenspiel. If Cruiser could program more detailed electronic interventions and avoid (or amplify) the muddy noise of the mastering work, they might record a really striking album. They have any number of examples to choose from-- the flawless integration of drum-n-bass and ethereality on Love Spirals Downward's Flux is just one. As it is, Northern Electric's wintry atmospheres are like being a passenger in a car hugging the curves of a rural road in the midst of a December storm: you don't feel protected by the window separating you from the snow falling outside. You want to escape, to roll on the ground and face the elements firsthand.
