There’s something
sweetly perverse about a London-based
band decamping to the California desert
to record an album steeped in oceanic
metaphors. Behold then, the sophomore
release from this quintet who dredge the
bluesy swamp and swagger of early Rolling
Stones one minute, only to bliss out the
next on soporifi c My Bloody Valentine
reverbing. Split-screen dichotomies and
sound-checking musical styles from the
’60s forward are business as usual here,
and the band strike a balance that is
less unnerving than enthralling. Singer
Liela Moss channels PJ Harvey with her
rough n’ raw, confi dent vocals tinged
with vulnerability. This woman can turn
on a dime, moving from the slow burning
quiver of ‘Wooden Heart,’ brimming with
Wall of Sound-style production, to the
lusty proto-feminism of ‘You Really Wake
Up the Love in Me.’ The skuzzy guitar
licks ebb and fl ow, making way for catchy
hooks on songs such as ‘My Sunken
Treasure.’ It’s a rousing, confi dent journey
for a band who has found their sea legs.

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