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Beach House: Beach HouseBeach House: Beach House | |
| Desc: | CD REVIEW: ARTIST: Beach House |
| Label: | Carpark |
| Format: | Album |
| Media: | CD |
| Genre: | Recording |
The world as gently brush-stroked and dribbled out by Baltimore duo Beach House is a grandiose, fallen one. Victoria Legrand’s smoky, double-tracked vocals skate slowly over creeping, rainy-day matrices of nodding-off organ and silken slide guitar that threaten to fade into the shadows from whence they came at any given second. She’s Nico reincarnated, but with a higher register and without that imposing accent. There are impressions of forgotten epochs revisited, gowns tailored for fancy balls, snailing downtown cab rides, post-coital stasis. Tumbling from Legrand’s chanteuse lips are one restrictive morsel after another — “You only give me what you don’t want no more,” “Child, your only hope has flown,” “Love you all the time/Even though you’re not mine” — eternally despairing amongst imagined ruins.