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"Tim Kinsella hasn't lost his appetite for abstraction: on Joan of Arc's ninth album, the Chicago entity's axis mundi remains wed to the cracks between the wallows where even the most intransigent indie pop takes care of its morning business. But now he's got beats-grooves, even-and seems far less inclined to fit bits of gossamer and smoke from all over tarnation together like complementary pieces from different jigsaw puzzles. Instead he hangs Joan's freak flag on the surreality of his lyrics like freshly varnished laundry. ""I know the Hancock Building/ Will eclipse the afternoon moon,"" Kinsella proclaims on ""Queasy Lynn,"" like Edwyn Collins in a wizard's hat, over sinister strings, metallophone, and a rolling tom-tom-driven shuffle that heralds the imminent arrival of either the Creator or health-care professionals bearing nets.
On ""Fleshy Jeffrey"" Kinsella drinks even more deeply from nightside ponds, in a manner that suggests either the beginning of the Xiu Xiu tribute movement, a sluggish manifestation of the Mark Eitzel backlash, or both. Except that it's blood his protagonist is after. ""And when the smoke comes arisin' round your window after midnight/ Never forget/ Never forget/ A vampire must be invited,"" the singer rasps and coos rapaciously, drawing nourishment from the song's melancholy accordion and vibraphone. As with the rest of the album, ""Jeffrey""'s rich instrumentation draws on the talents of a small army of darkness: eleven players, not counting producer John McIntyre (Stereolab, Tortoise). Obviously, Kinsella finds rewarding danger in numbers, despite his refusal to paint by them.
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