Picture tuxedo-pop: red velour curtains, shined shoes, a penetrating gaze, a raised martini, and a tip back into the head-swimming swirl of a dream. The Detroit quartet Zoos of Berlin brings elegance to pop, but still nurtures fascinations with pulsing reverb and weird, bent atmospherics. With its waltzy punk shred and its gossamer baroque leanings, Taxis will either baffle you into some head-shaking, defeated fit, or (hopefully) liberate you into some shoulder-shaking flare-up, some eureka-moment blurt at finding a delicious blend of weird and pleasing pop, presented in sweeps of stately splendor and a burning, guttural coarseness.
It's also a sound that loves the feel of dirt under its suede boots; it can pivot at any moment to knee you in the guts, often by way of bristly guitar shred or relentless drum barrage. Take “Black In The Sun Room,” for example: tightly locked rhythms burn and punch their way forward with pulsating brass echoes and a wavy, churning keyboard buzz that intertwines with the guitars through the chorus; the song stomps its way forward like freaked-up aerobics with the urgency of escaping a soon-to-be-detonated building. This offsets recurring themes of feathery melodies and breathy vocals over softer but thickly-layered textures of warm, fuzzy bass and keyboards.
“Juan Matus” is an encompassing statement of Zoos of Berlin's sweet pop, stately jazz, and indie-growl. A freer bass shimmies around the edges while a surf-toned guitar capriciously warbles out a few licks alongside a sun-soaked trumpet blazing out a shuffling yet fiery melody, all while the keys and drums lock in for a steady pounding rhythm. This is easily their jazziest-sounding song, set to an enduring drum beat, blending the won’t-quit punch of punk with the expressive boom of rock, while Kevin Bayson’s trumpet awakens from its lazy beachside burn and starts twisting around the space like a trapeze artist. This song is indicative of numerous moments on Taxis, where the band showcases its meticulous ear for tone and love for feedback storms, and where slowed-down vigor-rock runs toward luminescent, dreamy trudges. Drums lock in then spill around, while the buzzy keyboards sway and burn over heavenly and haunting feedback howls.
“Water Town” lets keyboardist Will Yates shred on his Roland, first with some tinny warbles and then barrel-rolling into a fuzzier lower-range — all the while pulsed by drummer Collin Dupuis' and bassist Dan Clark’s fervent rhythms and falling into a dynamic echoed guitar explosion. After Clark's soothing coo drifts through the pensive, darker ballad “Stay by the Ark,” we fall into the danceable disco-revivalism of “Electrical Way,” with a hustling, hip-shakeable drum beat and funkified guitars set off by Tevor Naud’s cerebral Bowie/Blunstone delivery and Yates' unique clackety-buzzings.
Zoos of Berlin love galvanizing cinematic wonder, a bit of melodrama and theatrics, Cuban and Afrobeat, jazz — they even love punk. There’s no delineation; it all comes together, and it all comes through. It’s a weird whimsicality that may prove overwhelming. Not completely pop, not completely noise experimentation, it is, at its heart, a swath of indie-punk shred, gossamer baroque pop stateliness, expressive jazz penchants, and goosebump-inducing production.
1. Century Rail
2. Black In The Sun Room
3. Formal Is At Noon
4. Juan Matus
5. Our Jailor Eats Alone
6. Water Town
7. Countess Lessons
8. Dr. Vine Passing
9. Stay By The Ark
10. Electrical Way
11. Coliseum
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