Knee-deep in fluffy, mid-February snow somewhere in Brooklyn, faces redden and a furor is sparked by this sunburst psych collaboration between Dj Nobody and Beachwood Sparks refugee Chris Gunst. It's not that the tracks are terrible; they're actually as good or better than Nobody's criminally overlooked solo output of beat-based productions, which can flip froma meditative hip-hop cut to a Flaming Lips cover without ever sounding forced. The problem is Gunst's nature-centric lyrics of sinking into sand, swimming in the Gulf of Mexico and cozying up to a beachside bonfire. Sung with the bittersweetness of Elliott Smith (without that whole chronically depressed aftertaste), they'll leave you lusting after spring afternoons and summer nights. And then there's Nobody's subtle production patchwork of chirping crickets, steamy synths, hollow percussion patterns, screaming cicidas, crackling records, wailing harmonicas and guitars that genuinely weep. Save this one for the solstice - you're gonna need it. - Urb |