![]() Choruses don’t so much peak as recline into increasingly infectious passages. ![]() ‘One at a Time’ likewise tackles self-imposed social segregation, erupting into wah-pedal splurges that exude enough thrumming kinetic energy to jumpstart Neilson’s docile synapses twice over.Įlsewhere the verse-chorus-verse songwriting gets familiar but never loses pace. Isolation can put a gun in your hand.” It’s a spiritually moribund introduction buoyed on lysergic fervour, emerging from the debut’s home-blend of soul, psychedelia and blue funk, but more indulgent, more attention-getting more. On II, whose opening tune outlines with roundabout gawkiness a desire to blast one’s brain from its mortal stirrups, the cat is out the bag: “ I’m so lonely but I can never quite reach the phone,” Neilson mourns on ‘From the Sun’, “ I’ve gotta eat my popcorn all alone. ![]() Was Ruban Neilson this fucked up on Unknown Mortal Orchestra’s debut? Were we just not paying attention?
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