Daily

artist beach house
album devotion
label carpark

There's a part in "Alice in Wonderland" where Alice falls down the rabbit hole and passes shelves full of household goods at a lazy speed. Listening to Beach House kind of feels like that. Not only does the warm saltwater voice of Victoria Legrand give their songs a hazy, other-side-of-the-mirror feel, but the sound is layered with as many odds and ends as an old antique store.

The Baltimore band's second LP further defines their ambient style. Old organs, jingle bells and lacy curtains of distortion give this album an environment of a sun-baked attic, using ancient low-fi equipment that feels like it somehow captured the lighting in the room.

There were probably several types of maracas involved in the production of this album, all of them beat slowly and with a casualty that implies the novelty of shaking them has long worn out for the two musicians. Instead, their songs are a bit codeine-tinted, as colorful and languidly stretchy as a piece of taffy.

"Astronaut" is a floating, shimmery tune with a tone of curiosity, as if meant to be listened to while watching a silhouette appear over the horizon. Like most Beach House songs, it surrenders to sheets of ringing bells in a wash of sound that never quite becomes euphoric, but instead opts to usher the listener pleasantly into a catnap.

If God or a fairy godmother or any other enchanted being gave these two any gifts, they were most definitely an infinite mellowness and a nice set of delay pedals. With these assets, the two have learned to master the art of creating an environment in a song, but beware: "Devotion" demands an equal amount of calm to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Daily

artist born ruffians
album red, yellow & blue
label warp records

Born Ruffians singer Luke Lalonde's voice is stringy in the best way possible. He takes its meager, scratchy range and flies it like a kite, or swings it around like a jump rope in a game of Double-Dutch. It's a beast gone wild, devouring notes up and down, and the effect is what can only be called punk.

Imagine Pixies singer Frank Black after breaking into a vending machine full of Rock Star Energy drinks and you can guess what this Canadian band might sound like.

Wise enough to realize the punch of personality in the vocals, they keep the rest of the sound minimal, crashing at symbols now and again, and even using the oft-abandoned art of the round.

The lyrics are inventive and charming, capturing the naiveté and childish fun of conjuring up escapist images of an ideal future.

In "Hedonistic Me," Lalonde sings, "There'll be mom and pop and grandmama and all the children I will father," in a bouncy ode to a girlfriend he swears to someday make dandelion wine for. Only certain kinds of people would ever think to choose dandelion wine as their glass of choice, and Born Ruffians is exactly that kind.

"Red Yellow and Blue," the band's first full-length album, shows their ability to craft songs in an array of structures and moods. The mellow, harmonica-tinged "Little Garçon" is most likely the album's attempt at giving the listener a break for reflection. "Foxes Mate for Life" adds layers of fraternal chanting, ultimately pumping up the testosterone on the album.

Born Ruffians are sloppy, but in a way that reminds you how messy your room was in high school. They're just as proud to be young and erratic as you were.