Ooh, indie-rock, eh? Well played, both literally and figuratively. Right when I pop it in the deck, The Inanimate Sermon rocks like that first Food Pyramid tape on Moon Glyph and rolls like Stereolab going downhill in a steroid rush, a crowded-yet-spare mix of guitar pitter-patterns and Harmonia rhythms. It would make my job easier if the motif stayed the same and sorta floated into hyperspace, but the motorik mood is dispelled almost immediately by a squishy ballad, one part “Sphagnum Esplanade,” one part Mystic Chords Of Memory, one part new-age — we’re talkin’ fucking pan flutes here — lazerquest, and all giggity-giggity goodness. The hippy strums continue on the flip. Words are almost a waste when music clicks this naturally; get this thing.
More about: Mothers of Gut
