The first album from this Nottingham-based band is California dippy: whispered female/male harmonies, slack flutes, swinging drums, comping Hammond organs, and a bass player who finds basic funk riffs in every progression. Still, their loping AM-radio psychedelia — like later Stereolab or lighter Dungen — engages with enough noise (if not complex rhythms) to keep the band out of mawkish territory.
"Cannonball" begins with a high guitar note that sounds as if, at the right level, it could damage my speakers — as if Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth" had been recorded to sound like the turmoil it represented. "Been Out to Sea" has an oscillating synth bass that dirties up the song's Hammond/dulcimer combo and distracts you from the band's lazy repetition of the title throughout. Indeed, the lyrics seem written under tapestries and amid nag champa smoke; they're the weakest link.
"Time Will Come" brings more title repetitions; in "Volcano," a heavily distorted voice tells us, "There's a fire." And "Let It Ride" relies on easy homophones: "In my mind . . . the echoes remain . . . I don't mind." My unasked-for rewrite? "Is it horrific . . . or terrific . . . to be so soporific?"