Sin Fang Bous - Clangour

Equally surprising are the deviations of genre. Apparently an apple amid oranges, “Melt Down the Knives” exhausts its dark, Nuggets-via-post-punk energy in two minutes flat. It seems out of place on the record, when you set its macho bombardment of guitars and its air of pessimism against the other tracks. But when you place it beside “Sunken Ship”, swollen with the baroque machinery of Sgt. Pepper’s psychedelia, it illuminates the sources behind Sin Fang Bous’s kitchen-sink adventures: the 1960s. It’s not unreasonable, in fact, to sense a Spectorian wall of sound in the percussive boom and splash of “Carry Me Up to Smell Pine”. With an imagination thoroughly sculpted by the past, Sigfússon’s cut-and-paste folk manages effortlessly to evoke both the psychedelic rockers of yesteryear and more recent enchanters like Stuart Murdoch and Panda Bear.

BLAHBLAHBLAH whatever. There’s a reason why people can’t stand Pitchfork reviews sometimes. This record’s gorgeous. Buy it.