Paris Transatlantic review by Jason Bivins

Lawnmower – WEST (CF 178 )
Drummer Luther Gray knows exactly the sound he’s going for: the sound of summer swelter, evoked by the swollen strumming of guitarists Geoff Farina and Dan Littleton, heat-haze and heavy air drenched in their reverb and vibrato, while Jim Hobbs’ celebrated alto quaver is all insects in shimmering air, punctuated by the occasional sweat-soaked complaint – “damn, it’s hot!” He’s great at bending tart notes around like balloon sculptures, as one guitarist does the Ribot twang alongside the other’s metallic sawing. The long lines and big thunderheads of pure tone are stretched elastically over Gray’s skittering pulse, with the guitars occasionally swerving outward to meet up with the drummer in a choppy second line rhythm (Gray is a model of restrained invention throughout). On the first few spins, I thought it was a bit uneventful, but then, as the temperature approached 100 down here, I started to get it. As the saxophone claws its way through the thickening, oscillating textures of “One,” as “Dan” cavorts with night birds and insects, and as “Glass” nods obliquely to one of those old Codona songs with kalimba (specifically “Mumakata”), I began to look forward to new listens, new immersions into this bath of sound. Don’t get me wrong – it’s not all just texture: “Prayer of Death” could be a 19th century funeral air played by a surf band, and the nicely noisy “Giant Squid” unfurls long saxophone lines, descending and ascending inside the bowels of a machine. But ultimately it all drifts back to the sound on the daydreaming “I Love” and the sweet, wistful “Two” that ends the disc. Lovely. Somebody reach into the cooler and toss me a cold one.

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