10 Songs, 46 Minutes

EDITORS’ NOTES

Spencer Krug — singer/keyboardist for Montreal’s Wolf Parade — is carving a trenchant niche in the indie-rock pantheon with his band Sunset Rubdown, originally started as an outlet for his solo efforts. There’s a bit of the artist-loose-in-the-studio feel here, but overall this amalgamation of various styles of rock, theatrical undertones and grand visions unfettered might leave a person speechless on first listen. Krug paints in bold, psychedelic swirls on “Stadiums And Shrines II” (a more refined, yet bigger version than the one on Snake’s Got A Leg), dabbles in a pirate swagger on “They Took a Vote and Said No,” and conducts a dark carnival on “Swimming.” “The Empty Threats of Little Lord” is indeed darkly threatening, and what should be a pretty ballad turns to a mind-splintering lullaby on “Us Ones In Between;” Krug pleads, as gently as he can, “Oh, baby, mother me before you eat me.” The long title track is a brilliant meeting of light and dark, and gets under your skin in a wonderful, melancholy way. Maybe not what sweet dreams are made of, exactly, but if we’re talking nightmares, at least the soundtrack is unforgettable.

EDITORS’ NOTES

Spencer Krug — singer/keyboardist for Montreal’s Wolf Parade — is carving a trenchant niche in the indie-rock pantheon with his band Sunset Rubdown, originally started as an outlet for his solo efforts. There’s a bit of the artist-loose-in-the-studio feel here, but overall this amalgamation of various styles of rock, theatrical undertones and grand visions unfettered might leave a person speechless on first listen. Krug paints in bold, psychedelic swirls on “Stadiums And Shrines II” (a more refined, yet bigger version than the one on Snake’s Got A Leg), dabbles in a pirate swagger on “They Took a Vote and Said No,” and conducts a dark carnival on “Swimming.” “The Empty Threats of Little Lord” is indeed darkly threatening, and what should be a pretty ballad turns to a mind-splintering lullaby on “Us Ones In Between;” Krug pleads, as gently as he can, “Oh, baby, mother me before you eat me.” The long title track is a brilliant meeting of light and dark, and gets under your skin in a wonderful, melancholy way. Maybe not what sweet dreams are made of, exactly, but if we’re talking nightmares, at least the soundtrack is unforgettable.

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