Pop is too sweet for Deleted Scenes, but at times the Seattle quartet seem like they’re sipping hi-fructose corn syrup from holographic straws. Other instances like with the washed-out, lo-fi “The Demon & the Hurricane” remind of an underwater orchestra just beneath the surface and really is drowning all that tragic a way to go? Trudging drums hang out by the train yard, while guitars nip at the wheels like chasing dogs, and vocals soar and drop with the tide, the whole mess going clockwise in the spin cycle. These children of supportive parents, who encouraged their banging on pots and pans, that lived in a suburbia that echoed with charm and wonder, seem to understand that not everything can be happy-go-lucky and so the occasional ballad skews the blissful day to remind that yes David Lynch lives on this block.
Melodious, but entirely ethereal, at times steeping itself so far in the electronic tea that the sound soars above a cartoony landscape, which is all well and fare, where ping pong balls bounce on bone white china, string work and all, until the guitars swoop in to save the day.
