Falling somewhere neatly in between the two extremes of “bedroom rock” (the quaking lo-fi rumblings of Ariel Pink and associates and the radio-friendly pop singles of one-man groups like the Comas), Kyle Andrews crafts a delightfully endearing slab of divergent indie rock with hints and traces truthful melancholy.
Andrews utilizes tones and atmospheric instrumental choices to build upon each song’s theme. Amid the buzzing strings and twittering snare of the delicate “Acepilladora,” Andrews drops a line about “…dust, linen and twine” and it feels like a list of ingredients for a song seemingly built out of glued together bits, each piece acquiring more meaning when juxtaposed with another dissimilar addition. The track’s fragile foundations are basically held together by Andrews’ crackling, slow-to-dry introspection.
The quiet declarations of “Bat Fangs” find Andrews outing his angst, with lines simultaneously self-effacing and melodramatic (“Heart attack, had too many snacks / Twenty-three, don’t tell me I’m out of control”). He dwells within the small affronts, the day-to-day disappointments that are almost instantly deflated of their hugeness, proclaiming, “I forget... What was I crying about?”
His clever instrumental opportunism and inevitable melodies make his style comparable to the brilliant quirk of John Vanderslice or Emperor X. From the cut-n-paste beats and keys of “Get Mad” to the precious, finger-picking, red-eyed dirge of “Lackluster Love,” Andrews skillfully navigates the harsh terrain of indie rock singer-songwriterdom like few others.
Favorite Track: “Bat Fangs”
