Sunset Rubdown's music is lo-fi, shell-shocked, dissonant, and very reminiscent of David Bowie/Brian Eno's post-apocalypse fixation, circa Station to Station. The images and music that singer Spencer Krug has put to tape tell of futility and disconnectedness through his warbled, pained singing--a style that almost distracts too much from the music. It's similar to the way that Conor Oberst's rawness sometimes overwhelms Bright Eyes. However, there are standouts like "I'm Sorry That I Sang on Your Hands That Have Been in the Grave," where a weirdly gorgeous meditation over a click-track coughs up a glimmering loneliness. On "The Men Are Called Horsemen There" glam and drama are dialed all the way up and mixed with a heavy Spectorian wall of sound. "Shut Up I Am Dreaming of Places Where Lovers Have Wings" swirls with tension, then opens into an '80s New-Romantic sad dance party. Employing unusual instruments, off-kilter arrangements, and an all-around herky-jerky feel, the album is intriguing and unsettling, not unlike Krug's other projects, Frog Eyes and Wolf Parade. --Gabi Knight
