4 out of 5

Label: Flydaddy

Producer: Brian Deck

I know that Califone is one of those groups that I’m supposed to like more as their sound has ‘matured’ over the years, but… but maybe I totally dug them when they were still rooting around in the whole junkyard, scraped-together folk vibe?  Maybe I feel like their current Americana incarnation is actually a bit more typical?  But maybe my opinion will change when I revisit those discs.  Alls I know is that this was one of my first Califone purchases and it was what I wanted the group to sound like.  Years later, these tracks – wandering and illusive as they are – are still some of the most memorable, to me, of their catalogue, and the EP scope helps in digesting the somewhat cyclical, drone sound and appreciate the warmth that’s layered ‘neath the clatter and grating.

Opener ‘On the Steeple’ sets the tone – notably different already from Loftus and Red Red Meat as Rutili’s singing and tone isn’t as depressively drawled so much as musing; Califone would establish itself as a more contemplative beast than the previous projects, though Bunny Gets Paid and There’s a Star would surely introduce the template, something about mostly stripping it back down to one man (with assists from everyone in the Perishable / Clava scene) seemed to open Rutili’s eyes to the skies instead of trying to find meaning in the dirt.  That doesn’t change his surreal lyrics, but the wording feels more inviting.  Deck’s ‘cinderblock scraping across floor’ gathering of sounds and the reliance on some core, cold electronic beats beneath the shimmery slide guitars was such a great mash-up of sounds, but I accept that this would’ve gotten old if repeated album after album, perhaps accounting for the feel being dropped sometimes after ‘Roomsound.’  The more traditional folk feel of track 2’s ‘Silvermine Pictures’ runs along into a wonderful deconstruction, and then the album morphs around the instrumental stomp of ‘To Hush a Sick Transmission,’ which gathers every incongruent factor possible and smashes them together into a song.  What I dig about this is how well it works to sort of shoo away anyone too blissed out by what preceded.  The last three tracks somewhat swoon together in a haze of tinkling piano and warbling guitars (though track 6 is sort of just a brief intro to 7), with final track ‘Down Eisenhower Sun Up w/ Mule’ retreating back into the cold drum machine of ‘On the Steeple’ before suddenly whisking away and leaving us with a repeating whisk of noise (like a record run out…) for about 12 minutes.  It’s an interesting move, and only annoys because I wish I could leave the album on repeat since it’s an impressive listening experience in sequence.