Beach House Devotion by: Dan Osmolowski Sun:16-Mar-08 Label: Carpark Year: 2008 WB rating 68 out of 100

The first few bars of The Velvet Underground’s 'Sunday Morning' was the sound that launched a thousand bands. It is a song that lyrically personified the lazy hours of the day of rest and wrote the raison-d’etre for those obsessed with capturing the textures of somnambulism. John Cale’s dreamy celesta, Lou Reed’s ethereal vocals, Sterling Morrison’s rubbery bass and Mo Tucker’s reverb-laden, bare-bones percussion were to form the blueprint for 1980s dream-pop and later, shoegaze. The floating, come-down, layered style of the former, are familiar and well-worn descriptors but, in the case of Baltimore’s Beach House, are wholly appropriate. On Devotion - the follow up to 2006’s well received, self-titled debut – the reverb is laid on thick, the velvet curtains are drawn, the candles are lit and we are guided through 11, often indistinguishable, but worthy episodes in the life of two lovers.

It comes as no surprise, judging by the title and cover art of the album, that Devotion is an album about love. Instead of being a mountain-top proclamation of finding love, vocalist/organist Victoria Legrand and multi-instrumentalist Alex Scully paint a delicate and intimate picture of a special relationship. It feels like you are somehow in on a private conversation between the couple as they declare their innermost thoughts and feelings. Legrand’s voice is husky and captivating and her organ lends an odd, funereal touch to the atmospherics; at times it feels like the couple are scoring the next David Lynch film. The instrumentation is lush but never florally; there is a cavernous depth to the album that, despite the deliberately unhurried rhythms and M.O.R moments, somehow manages to draw the listener in.

‘Wedding Bell’ is a brilliant calling card as an album opener, it’s shuffling country twang finds a counterpoint in some brief, but resonant, ‘broken’ guitar playing by Scully. ‘Gila’ stands out early on with some lazy, intoxicating slide guitar, swirling organ and Legrand’s androgenous intonations; “Pick apart the past, you’re not going back/So don’t you waste your time,” she warns her lover. The shift during ‘Holy Dances’ from solemn tome into glistening, but muted, celebration is gorgeous, as are the floating melodies of ‘D.A.R.L.I.N.G’, where the band come across like a 60s girl group on Zoloft. These moments present Beach House at their best but, unfortunately, only serve to highlight the album’s shortcomings.

Too much of the remainder of Devotion is, sadly, forgettable – easily listenable and enjoyable (given the right reflective mood) but forgettable. We are offered up some firm arguments early in the album that the duo are capable of splashing an atonal canvas with some emotive and captivating flourishes. Even ‘You Came to Me’, which begins uneasily as a boat floating across a perfectly flat sea under leaden skies, finally rewards the listener’s patience as Legrand chimes in with some beautiful harmonies and a lovely organ melody. This ability to turn the listener’s apathy into the desire for a repeat listen, fades dramatically as the record rolls on. The reliance on heavy reverb becomes burdensome and the limitations of such skeletal and robotic percussion are laid bare.

In literary terms, Devotion is not a novel; it’s devoid of a real climax and the dénouement is unsatisfying but, to be fair, not all of history’s great writing is of the unabridged variety. Beach House would like you to feel as if you are flipping through their diary; one filled with intimate thoughts and emotions that are not always crafted with a wider audience in mind. While this may still seem like a thrilling proposal - to be privy to someone’s inner sanctum - more often than not it doesn’t turn out to be the gripping, absorbing, and voyeuristic experience you imagined.