Disappears - Lux
They sure as hell don’t make records like these anymore. Except that Chicago quartet Disappears have. Their debut album for Kranky, a label usually associated with the ambient experimentalism of acts like Tim Hecker and Charalambides, is a fuzzed-up beast of a garage rock album. A record where droning and squealing guitars ebb and flow around monotone vocals and driving, hypnotic percussion.
Lux is a noisy son of a bitch. Not in the dense, deafening manner which bands like Sunn O))) oppress you with, just a record whose dirty guitar riffs demand to be played loud. ‘Marigold’ slowly builds up each layer of sound till it just begs you to lose your whole self to the heavy rock vibrations. The title tracks reverb-heavy atmosphere takes you on a kraut-rock journey into the fuzzy ether and gets you lost there, while ’Old Friend’s’ thundering bellow is over in just a few short but exhilarating minutes.
Short and sweet is what Lux is. A record that comes in at little over half an hour yet never pulls its punches. The key thing that Disappears have grasped here is that sometimes straightforward is just as effective as the complex experimentalism and meandering progressive passages that many other bands on Kranky are guilty of. Disappears have created a raw, lo-fi yet no less brilliant album in Lux and we can only thank them for showing us the way.