America by name, America by nature. Dan
Deacon's follow-up to his 2009 career high Bromst is swathed in the big,
bold and sometimes graceless chutzpah of the country it was created in. But
these brainbox battering beats are as much an examination of the
Baltimore-based composer’s sonic progression as a delve into what motivates the
United States of America's inner psyche.
On the face of it, little's changed in the land of Deacon. The hyper-driven distortion of Guildford Avenue and Crash Jam are as euphoric and ear-screeching as anything found within his extensive back catalogue. But beneath this maximalist exterior lies an understated romantic streak that weaves its way through the tingling gaze of The Great American Desert and Rails' parping trumpets, climaxing in True Thrush's melting android melody and hexagonal drum patterns. A triumph, for sure – America is perhaps more vast and complex than even Deacon had anticipated.
On the face of it, little's changed in the land of Deacon. The hyper-driven distortion of Guildford Avenue and Crash Jam are as euphoric and ear-screeching as anything found within his extensive back catalogue. But beneath this maximalist exterior lies an understated romantic streak that weaves its way through the tingling gaze of The Great American Desert and Rails' parping trumpets, climaxing in True Thrush's melting android melody and hexagonal drum patterns. A triumph, for sure – America is perhaps more vast and complex than even Deacon had anticipated.
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