3 out of 5

Label: Civil Defense League

Produced by: Jason Ward

Those who followed Rhythm of Black Lines up through their final album, Human Hand, Animal Band, will recognize the connecting threads to RoBL member Clint Newsom’s solo project, Reflections: the miasma sound swirl of 70s psych as filtered through post-rock; Newsom’s off-key vocals – reminiscent of 90 Day Men’s Brian Case’s warble – and the swelling (not quite evolving) song construction.  Human Hand was definitely an acquired taste as compared to RoBL’s more accessible early instrumental jams, and Reflections follows suit, although now not linked to that instrumental past, Newsom can cut loose and focus on writing songs as opposed to experiments.  (For the record, I dug Human Hand, but it was definitely open-ended.)

The lyrics on ‘Dogs’ are rather unimpactful – in part because of Newsom’s singly/shoulder-shruggy delivery doesn’t lend any urgency, but also because producer Ward, when bereft of clear elements to enhance, tends to dump everything forefront in the mix.  This makes for a unique sound when you’re as busy with fuzzy noises as Reflections, though it also logically prevents songs from having any crescendos unless they’re truly present in the compositions, and that’s just not how Newsom really writes.  That being said, ‘Dogs’ is still a fresh listen, and Clint delivers some deviously twisted pop/psych that gets stuck in your head: strummy guitar lines from opener ‘Magical Medicine,’ the swooning ‘The Doctor’s Work’ (lots of ‘s’ adjectives here, if that suggests..sss… anything to you), but just as often – admittedly moreso when Clint goes from croony singing over chants – it leads to tracks that stall on their melody, just repeating until the last bars, when a variation will kick you in to wake you up for the next song.

If you’ve been thirsting for more of the RoBL sound, the band essentially evolved into a few different projects from Clint Newsom, all carrying the same all-hands-on sound approach.  Reflections, being a solo project, is prone to its indulgences, but at its worst it just fades into a pleasant background burble.  Half of the time, it brings its A game, Mr. Newsom swirling his pot of Texas psych and dirty New York glam and Chicago post-rock to lay down songs that get stuck on repeat in yer brain.