The most overt elements of Rhizomes
are the angular, nineties-indie-rock guitars (think Breeders,
early Versus, Bettie Serveert) and Kelsey Barrett's
vaguely Gothic yowl. Effi Briest's
overall style sounds oddly aged, like
something that might have come out in 1995, which isn't to say it
finds itself out of time. Instead, Rhizomes is a remarkably
gripping record that diverges from a lot of recent rock music. And
that's pretty swell by me.
Let's begin by examining Barrett's
vocals, as they endow this album with a lot of its distinct
character. Her croon calls to mind an
abstracter version of the Sneaker Pimps' Kelli Ali, of
all people; she's got that same menacingly sweet quality to her
timbre. It's an interesting complement to these often tormented,
guitar-heavy constructions. Consider, for example, the urgent guitar
churns of "Nights," whose feverish, Echo & The Bunnymen-esque
squall is filled out astutely by Barrett's swooping, winsome bellow.
Elsewhere, the weaving title-track, which may be this record's
tastiest kernel, brings the goods with a rolling build to a juicy
chord progression which ably accompanies her intensely dynamic
singing.
Not every moment is stellar, but no
single track betrays the mood and overall momentum of Rhizomes.
If we're to get picky, perhaps it would be "New Quicksand," focused
largely around tribal drums, a wiggly bassline, and largely
unadorned vocals, which most disturbs the record's tone; still,
we're not talking Synchronicity's "Mother." And while
maintaining the record's overall pull is important, one of the
strengths of Effi Briest's sound is their willingness to experiment.
"Mirror Rim" is a strange one, objectively speaking, fitted with
whirring vocals and backmasked melodics, and cradled by a prickly,
offbeat rhythm; still, it's one of the record's most engaging
moments.
The sum total of all this intense,
inventive indie rock is an adventurous, gradually intoxicating album
whose appeal builds over multiple listens. While melody plays a
significant role here, Rhizomes is more a record of
atmosphere, rhythm, and nuance -- even
glistening guitar chords (as on "Nights") serve more as effects than
core melodic elements. As a result, I've found that the album
doesn't age in the way many poppier affairs do; while Rhizomesmay eventually fall victim to the insipid
reek of familiarity once its crannies have been scraped clean by
replay after replay, in the (significant)
interim, its songs have aged quite nicely. It's a remarkable
accomplishment.
