This new release from the always-worth-a-listen Jagjaguwar label is a curious little thing indeed. It's packed full of fractured beats and trickling melodies that all struggle to be heard amid the ever-present fog of noise that make up this intriguing collection of songs. New York's Alex Delivery have here a fuzzy blend of prog rock, Krautrock and Brighton rock mixing spacey distortion with deafening drums, mumbled vocals and delicate melodies that seem to emerge from disused seaside piers or children's playgrounds.
Self-sabotage is also a favored method here as on the opening track Komad. At just over 10 minutes this song treads the fine line between an utter captivating courage to set up a glorious song structure only to completely demolish it and an irritating tendency to never give you what you think you want. Like a rusty swing in a disused playground this song creeks into view only to be joined by crashing drums and frontman Robert Lombardo's gritty vocals. The swing keeps on creaking for about 5 more minutes until it slowly morphs into a field of distorted synths and muffled beats. Rainbows lays down a bed of delicate clicks that sound like millions of sampled insects then scatters over the top an achingly nostalgic melody. Lombardo's vocals shuffle through all this in a lazy manner but you can rest assured that its the scratchy insect noises that eventually win out and the melody is soon confined to a distant memory.
Scotty is the sound of a crippled merry-go-round on board a sinking oil tanker, its sweet, playful loops barely audible over the crashing sounds all around. But then Sheath-Wet seems to hint at this merry-go-round staging something of a resurrection as its melody rises slowly from the depths, joined by the clumsy clattering of various hard surfaces this plods on for over 11 minutes with vocals drifting in whenever they can be bothered. I don't mean in any way to sound negative about this approach as it is strangely beguiling and if you stick with this song you never want it to finish and at some points you wonder if it ever will. It loops round in a hypnotic, self absorbed fuzz like a child spinning around, eventually losing balance.
As the art work suggests this record has an other-worldly feeling, often mirroring the illogical structure of a dream where nothing seems to fit together but the more time you spend with it the more this disconnection seems to make sense. Until, that is, you try to explain it to someone once it's finished and they look at you blankly, waiting for you to stop. A bit like what I'm trying to do now so I'll shut up and let you experience it for yourself on my recommendation. (I think.)