Beach House – Bloom

bloomNot a hair is out of place.  The pace drags, the key is low, and the fembot signifies doom – or, I guess, what it feels like to lude out at the beach. Contrary to hype, the band has not improved. With a tinny kind of obliqueness, they deconstruct Pet Sounds by way of a Casio keyboard (OK, a “minimal approach”). Two or three songs marble the murk. Prone to drone, the album gets a vibe, but I like my angst pretty and/or fast and/or straight (cf., Desertshore {Nico}, Pornography {The Cure}, or the entire Joy Division catalog). Too often Bloom misses the mark.

Rating: C

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