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Naq vs lbh qner, pyvpx urer sbe “Ynxr Fbzrefrg” naq cvmmn.
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Welcome to Postmodern Accident. In honor of my choice for the eighth best album of 2007, I am presenting this entry in rot-13. Sorry to be obscure, but that’s just my way. If you want something fucking straightforward, then go read PopMatters.
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This seems the appropriate attitude to take in a post discussing Atlanta’s Deerhunter, who have all sorts of issues to work through, all the time. Don’t ask me about their dead friends or band members leaving or failed recording attempts or genetic disorders or vague sexuality. I just listen to the music.
And guess what? This record isn’t fucking straightforward either. Recorded in two halves, it alternates between spaced-out sound pieces that sound like Sonic Youth produced by Eno, and blissful indie pop that crosses the Wrens with shoegaze. Though a happy accident, the coherence it musters is brilliant, that of one gigantic but delicate prog-pop adventure that transforms itself as it goes. I don’t care if they supposedly have a debut album called Turn It Up Faggot and I don’t care if the next one they make wins a Grammy; what matters here is the ordered chaos that happens between the honking space-age alarms of “Intro” and the gently rhythmic sing-song of “Heatherwood.” Garage rocks swirls, water flows, tape runs out, some unbelievable godlike mess called “Lake Somerset” takes place, a corpse spirals out, and then we’re given the one-two punch of “Spring Hall Convert” and “Strange Lights” like manna raining down upon the starving, drought-stricken masses.
Cryptograms results from the kind of compromise between damaged artistic intent and uncooperative outsider personality that always grabs me by the neck. It presents the only variation of indie rock that I can truly stomach these days, and ranks on my year-end list for that very reason.
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And if you dare, click here for “Lake Somerset” and pizza.
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