The art-rock class of the early 2000s has seen a few star graduates in the last 12 months, dialling down the esotery for albums that were accessible for indie-rock mainstream crowds without alienating their original audiences of oddball mathematicians and Williamsburg. All of a sudden, Animal Collective knew how to fuse choruses and traditional song structures with their modus operandi of neo-psych screaming. Dirty Projectors cobbled together some conventional guitar solos on Swing Lo Magellan. Now London-via-Sydney’s PVT have made an album that honourably drifts away from their cosmic soundscapes for something more sharp and immediate – a 21st Century appropriation of guitar rock and computer love. When asked whether Liars may follow suit, Angus Andrew vomited on a vocoder and looped it until a new note on the mixolydian scale was invented. To quote ’60s girl group The Crystals, he’s a rebel and he’ll never ever do what he should.
The interlocking of sounds old and new, of jittery guitars and a treasure chest of off-kilter keyboard tones, is what anchors the album to past efforts while moving confidently towards a new future. For an album dominated by electronic experimentation there is an amazing sense of attachment and emotion. Yes, on tracks like Vertigo and Love & Defeat PVT even sneak in some love songs. Staying true to PVT’s dalliances with melancholy, this love is either suffocating or unrequited.
Shiver launches PVT’s fourth album innocuously enough with some lilting arpeggiated synthesisers. The slowly building instrumental track would be pleasant enough on its own, but the early appearance of Richard Pike’s tender falsetto – mutated and multiplied with pitch shifters – is what really commands your attention. A relatively recent introduction to the band’s sound (notably on 2010’s Church With No Magic), Richard is no vocal virtuoso, but his ability to match ability with emotional necessity is like musical gastronomy. His brother Laurence Pike, the shining star of Church With No Magic for his percussive fireworks, reels it back on Homosapien, instead laying down slabs of simple but sturdy electronic beats. You could easily imagine the military snares of Electric ascending in both complexity and volume until the universe collapses. Laurence instead stays the course amidst creepy choral voices and humming computer error guitars. When looking into the eyes of a madman, restraint can be just as powerful as rage.
For recording Homosapien, the trio dashed away to some unknown corner of the Australian outback. While this is a popular move for beard-stroking folkies, PVT’s fourth album suggests this can be just as effective for laptop architects, and the decision to set up camp in a century-old mansion suggests a balance between isolation and grandeur. Like Gatsby dying alone in his enormous pool.
BY MITCH ALEXANDER
Best Track: Love & Defeat
If You Like These, You’ll Like This: TWIN SHADOW, THE TEMPER TRAP, THE KNIFE
In A Word: Bleep-bloop
