4 out of 5

Produced by: Jason Ward

Label: Gold Standard Laboratories

Oh man, this album.

Borne of the Texas instrumental rock scene – Paul Newman, Ghosts and Vodka – Rhythm of Black Lines worked with the hallmarks of their peers and sixgunlover labelmates of clean guitars, oft-Jason Ward produced warmth, and treble heavy compositions, and amped it up with a bit of punk momentum to deliver some fast-paces blitzes of an EP and an album.

Moving to the slightly more high profile GSL label (a hot property at the time thanks to co-owner Mars Voltan Omar Rodriguez-Lopez’s profile) for a third release, when I first dipped into the expanded sound of Human Hand Animal Band, I figured the group was poised for big things.  90 Day Men had successfully made the leap to art rock oddballs and other goings on in the indie world seemed to suggest a supportive environment for this kind of stuff.  Alas, the reviews I read on the album were largely negative, considering it a wankfest, and wouldn’t ya’ know, I didn’t hear from the group thereafter…

I have to chalk this up to timing, because Human Hand is bloody genius.  I mean, I can sort of appreciate the adverse reactions, as the audiences were maybe different.  90 Day Nen, to keep with that example, already appealed to an outre, post-rock crowd, whereas RoBL’s instrumental fans might’ve felt burned by the sorta sudden favoring of vocals and effects.  But really, this is absolutely the same band, just inspired to reach into the weird aether, awash in reverb and odd imagery.  Clint Newsom’s off key sing-song may not be so inviting, but it’s the only imaginable match to the group’s strange range, the music hitting a pitch that’s both rich and tinny, with shimmering, luscious guitars and galloping, forever-setting-the-pace drumming.

I used ‘effects’ above as a misnomer, even: the disc initially sounds like it’s layered in a ton of extras, but most of the time you’re hearing the same trio of instruments the group has previously used, wrangled in the album’s particular fashion.

Songs stretch out and roam but return in full force – most evident from opener Tooth and the massive, three part PJS.  And it’s oblique, no denying that.  There’s no easy entrance (no immediate hooks), and some of the construction – such as divvying up the aforementioned PJS, or the pointless long pause before the concluding, rollicking title track – is perplexing.  But that’s sort of what makes this disc stand out from those other art rock acts at the same time: whereas a lot of those discs, which I enjoy, feel calculated, Human Hand feels possessed of some spirit, only to be released through practice of its dark, musical arts.

It’s a strange, glorious thing.  It deserved more.