Sure, there are touchstone influences beyond the one or two I've already named. VanGaalen's apparent death obsession, not to mention his Canadian roots, puts him in good company with the Arcade Fire; while his fragile voice, wreathed in analogue synths, makes the record an occasional dead ringer for a heretofore undiscovered Wayne Coyne solo album. But there's more to Chad VanGaalen than the sum of his influences: songs like "Blood Machine," with science-fiction lyrics worthy of Man Who Sold the World-era Bowie but a melancholy soul that's all its own, display a peculiar and morbid flair for storytelling, tempered with a deep-seated sadness that's hard to shake. Sunday morning music for Twilight Zone addicts? Maybe. But also the product of a particularly fertile mind, and a release that will make a dozen more of those "quirky" indie singer-songwriter discs worth putting up with. There's a new boy in town, and he's finally out of the bedroom. Now sit back and watch Chad VanGaalen blossom.
Reviewed by Zach Hoskins
This review is also posted on The Modern Pea Pod.
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